


Trust Who You Are

by R_Black



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Found Family, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, original troll tribe nonsense, probably not gonna be compliant with WIZARDS tbh, we'll have to see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Black/pseuds/R_Black
Summary: Strickler's health takes a sharp dive one day, and it ends up leading to the one thing he never thought he'd see: his original Tribe.





	1. Chapter 1

It all began when Toby got too curious. Because _of course_ he did.

Really, Strickler should have seen it coming. There were only four trolls in Arcadia left; one was blind and a terrible conversationalist, one had a very limited ability to express his thoughts, one was…well, he was around. And that left Strickler, who had a teaching degree and experience, knowledge of all things troll and magic, and could speak in grammatically correct English.

Stickler had been lounging in Barbara’s living room, stretched out on her couch reading _The Lorax_ to one of the ex-familiars, when the doorbell rang. At five in the afternoon in late August, with the sun still up, Walter wasn’t really expecting to do much, but with Barbara trying to sleep, he had to at least give her this courtesy.

Tucking the Dr. Seuss book under one arm and holding the baby in the other, the Changeling stood up and padded over to the front door. His ears twitched as the doorbell button was pushed _repeatedly_. Carefully, he glanced out the front windows to check for two things: if the sun would hit him (it wouldn’t, thank goodness) and if whoever it was knew enough about Trolls to not freak out at the sight of him.

Seeing the bright red vest and golden shirt combo, Strickler sighed. Of course it was Toby Domzalski. Who else would it be?

Opening the door, he eyed the teen with one eyebrow cocked. “Mr. Domzalski,” he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure? First week back at school and already you need a history tutor?”

The boy laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, sure. Uh, Mr. S, would you mind answering a few Troll-related questions?”

“I’m a little busy,” he grumbled, holding up both baby and book. “And I cannot go anywhere while the sun is still up.”

“Oh, well that’s okay, you don’t need to go anywhere—hi, baby! Gootchie goo!” Toby made a silly face, causing the child to laugh. “I was talking with Jim over the phone about Troll Tribes and Blinky was putting in his two cents because of course he needs to, and suddenly we got on the topic of Changelings—a woo-woo~ You are so cute, yes you are!”

Strickler rolled his eyes. “Focus, Mr. Domzalski.”

“Right, sorry. Anyway, we think we’ve pegged down what Tribe Nomura belongs to since there’s a Troll with them right now that looks like her but grey, and we’re almost sure about NotEnrique’s, but…we’ve never really seen any Trolls like you.”

He stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You know; wings, nonsensical horns, feather knives. The whole shebang.” Toby shrugged. “Even Blinky doesn’t know, and he’s, like, an expert on these things.”

“Hardly an expert,” Strickler scoffed. “He makes wild guesses and accusations and _sometimes_ gets the answers right. It will take a long time before he’s an _expert_.”

“Well, he’s the leader of Trollmarket,” Toby countered. “And he _was_ kinda the leading expert under Vendel on a lot of things when we were fighting Gunmar…”

Stickler sniffed disdainfully. “Once again: _Not an Expert_. Also, what was that about my horns?”

“So, Jim and I were wondering what Troll Tribe you belong to,” Toby said quickly. “I’m calling maybe a Transylvanian Tribe? Inspired Dracula and stuff? Jim—”

“I’d rather not know what sort of insult Young Atlas came up with regarding my Tribe,” Strickler interrupted. The two were still on awkward terms with each other, and sometimes Jim would not act like a gentleman over the phone.

“So, what Tribe _are_ you from?”

“It’s rather rude to ask that, Mr. Domzalski,” Strickler growled. “And it truly doesn’t matter anyway. As a Changeling, I don’t _belong_ to any Tribe.”

“But—”

“If you have no other business, please go home. I have a baby to put to bed and Barbara is still asleep.”

“But—”

Strickler shut the door.

He glared at the wood, hoping it would burst into flame or fall over onto the teen. His Tribe? As if his Tribe would _ever_ consider him a member. Not that it mattered; no Troll Tribe would ever take back a Changeling. An _Impure_.

His grip on the baby tightened. When he squeaked, Strickler realized his mistake and decided it would be best to put the baby back into the Cradlestone.

He snuck upstairs and put the baby back inside the stone with many others. The number was dwindling now that they’d set up a decent adoption system. Only about a hundred or so remained, and their care was minimalized due to the stone’s magic.

Thank God, because Strickler could only handle so many screaming children at once.

Before going back downstairs, he spared a glance into Barbara’s room. She was sound asleep, bone-dead tired from her shift the night before. One of the reasons they left the children inside the Cradlestone was so Barbara wouldn’t wake up every five minutes to a wailing baby. Strickler, with his Troll biology, could handle a few consecutive days without sleep. Barbara couldn’t.

He sighed and padded softly downstairs to the basement. In the back of his mind swam thoughts about his original Tribe. Before he’d been taken by Morgana. Before he’d been mutated. Before he’d been…_ruined._

Being over a thousand years old is not a pleasant experience for the brain—specifically the memory areas. Stickler has never been able to recall a time before the Darklands or Morgana. In his younger years, he had no time to waste pondering such things, being trained and brainwashed and molded into the perfect spy. And the centuries between the Killahead wars certainly left little room to consider Tribal affections. Such thoughts were _weak_. And weakness would be burned away if any Changeling smelled it out.

But now the Janus Order was gone, and so was Morgana. Only three Changelings were left in the Western Hemisphere, and all remaining Eastern members—those who somehow couldn’t make the ill-fated grand meeting with Gunmar—would have been forced into hiding now that their familiars had been freed. The lack of threats, lies, betrayals, and death made for a lull in Strickler’s life he hadn’t prepared for.

A lull that caused his mind to wander further than it ever had. And it…it scared him.

He was too old to think about these things. Too old to have any sort of feelings about a childhood lost to time. Too old to make such a big deal out of it!

He stood perfectly still in Barbara’s basement. It was technically his room now; It was far away from sunlight and prying eyes, had a convenient tunnel into the sewers, and was close enough to Barbara and the children that he could rush to their aid at the drop of a hat. A curtain sectioned off the washer and dryer at the bottom of the stairs, but other than that, the space was his own. After all, he couldn’t fully return to his old apartment…

All of his things—from his apartment and his old office—had been gathered and brought here over the summer months. Many of the items and artifacts were still locked in trunks and boxes, and there they would stay for a long while yet.

He rifled through a few of the cardboard boxes of books. He didn’t need to. There was no need to look for that one specific book. No. No, of course not. It wasn’t an issue. He didn’t need to find that one book about Troll Culture—one he’d stolen centuries ago to refresh some recruit’s memory on how true Trolls acted.

It was in his hand within a few minutes. He glared at it.

It wasn’t a big deal or anything…

* * *

Barbara found him in the basement hours later, curled up in a dark corner. He was facing the giant painting of himself, but his head was resting on his arms that rested over his knees.

She glanced at the painting and shook her head. She’d given AAARRRGGHH!!! her painting of Blinky and put up the Jim one in the den, while the rest had been put into storage for future selling potential. And yet her largest and angriest painting was still in the basement. Walter had insisted he keep it, though she couldn’t fathom _why_.

“To remind me that I _can_ change,” he’d said. “That I’m more than…that.”

Yeah, okay.

Shaking herself out of those thoughts, she knelt down next to the Troll. “Walt,” she said softly. “Walter? Are you okay?”

His breath hitched. He slowly drew his cowl closer to himself.

_Oh, boy,_ she thought. “Walter, it’s me. It’s Barbara. You’re safe, I promise.”

He let out a tiny laugh. “I’m…” He coughed and cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “I’m not…having an attack.”

She let out a sigh in relief. In the months since the Eternal Night, Walter had been having anxiety attacks and—on two occasions—flashback episodes. He’d said they were nothing, merely a weakness he would get over on his own. Though mental instability was not uncommon among Changelings, asking for help with _anything_ was a sure-fire way to get you killed—and as the former leader of the Janus Order, Walter was hard-wired for dealing with his problems silently.

The problem was, sometimes he couldn’t do it silently. Not with Barbara so close. She refused to let him be stuck in his own head. Though she wasn’t qualified to handle psychological stress, the doctor in her absolutely refused letting him continue this self-destructive behavior. Whenever she saw him having an anxiety attack or flashback, she softly reminded him he was safe, he was loved. That he wasn’t the monster he’d been told he was.

“Don’t lie to me,” she admonished.

He lifted his head a little, just enough to meet her eyes. “I promise it’s not an attack,” he croaked.

Barbara rubbed his shoulder lightly. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was nothing?”

The hard look she gave him was all the answer he needed. He uncurled a little, enough to show a book resting in his lap, its pages crumpled. Barbara couldn’t read Troll, but she caught a glimpse of some sort of winged creature on one of the pages. It looked a little like a gargoyle, kind of like…Walter.

“What is this?” she asked carefully. Her fingers brushed the picture lightly.

He scrambled to close the book. “Old wounds,” he grumbled.

She returned her hand to his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” His shoulders rose slightly. “Not really…”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. The two looked at each other, confused, before rising.

They walked upstairs together silently, Walter slightly slower. Barbara noticed him shaking a few kinks out of his legs. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him tonight.

She opened the door to a sheepish Toby. Barbara could practically feel Walter’s body stiffen behind her.

“Hello, Toby,” she greeted. “What’s the matter?”

The teen stole a glance at Walter. “I, uh, came to apologize,” he whimpered.

“For what?”

“For being rude to Mr. S. I told AAARRRGGHH!!! what happened and then Dictatious was eavesdropping, so he waltzed in and he said it was really rude that I did it and—”

“Toby, what happened?”

“I was really pushy about what Tribe Mr. S is from. Looking back, I really shouldn’t have pried, and Dictatious and AAARRRGGHH!!! said it’s kinda like asking a human’s country of origin.”

Walter slid an arm over Barbara’s shoulders. “And they’re right. It’s very inconsiderate to ask such a question of a Troll.” His eyes softened. “But I do forgive you. I should have told you and perhaps not have acted so harshly.”

Toby dared to smile. “Thanks, Mr. Strickler. Oh, and I forgot to tell you!”

He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “The teachers asked me to give you this.”

Walter opened the envelope. A smile crossed his face. He chuckled. “It’s a Thank You letter, signed by all the staff that worked with me. They wish me good luck and…” A tiny plastic card popped out of the envelope when he shifted his grip. Examining it, he snorted. “Gave me a $200 gift card to _Big and Tall_.”

Barbara and Toby laughed. Walter shook his head, still smiling.

“I suppose it’s the thought that counts,” he said. His wings quivered under his cloak.

The action didn’t escape Toby. “Hey, you could always cut some holes in the back of a turtleneck or suit! Or wear a virgin killer!”

Walter’s face of pure shock made Barbara lose her mind. She tried to imagine Walter in the aforementioned article of clothing and nearly fell over in her laughter.

Walter huffed, crossing his arms. “Laugh it up.”

Barbara wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m sorry, Walt. It’s not my fault Toby made such a good suggestion!”

“Don’t you have work soon?”

“Night off, remember?”

He grumbled, clearly at a loss.

Toby cracked his knuckles. “Welp, time to go on patrol, Dr. L! Hope you guys have a great time babysitting the 1000-Kid-Litter!”

“It wasn't _that _many,” she corrected. "And it’s actually around a hundred now."

“Neat! Has anyone called in for another adoption yet?”

“Not today,” Walter answered. “It’s slow going.”

“Bummer.” Toby began to walk away. “See you, guys! I gotta go change into my sweet armor and get AAARRRGGHH!!!”

Barbara waved. “Good luck! Be safe!”

As she closed the door, she turned back to her Troll housemate. “Do you plan on moping in the basement all night, then?”

He blinked, then shyly looked away. “Ah. No, no. I was…going to perhaps do some more research for the children’s adoptions.”

“Maybe make some dinner first?”

“As you wish, My Lady.” He gave her a deep bow.

As he rose, he grimaced and clutched his head. He stumbled back a bit. Barbara put out an arm to steady him.

“Walt?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I must have risen too fast.”

He attempted to step forward, but his knees buckled, and he stumbled to the ground. Barbara yelped as he fell, kneeling.

“Walt! What’s going on?” She instinctively put the back of her hand to his forehead, but his stony skin yielded nothing but his usual cool temperature. He could've had a fever, but she didn’t know how to tell. Troll biology was still relatively new to her. It was like being in medical school all over again.

“I…I don’t know,” he groaned.

He tried to stand, but his legs trembled violently. Barbara held him steady, though his full weight wasn’t something she was prepared to handle.

“Barbara…”

He collapsed again, this time completely falling to the floor.

“Walter!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler wakes up. Toby and Barbara find out the name of his Tribe. AAARRRGGHH!!! doesn't understand the concept of silent P's.

Strickler regained consciousness slowly. His head swam.

Voices drifted in and out.

_“…I didn’t know what else to do.”_

_“No eat?”_

_“Not today……far as …aware…”_

_“…Maybe we……Jim or Claire…”_

_“Blinky could help.”_

_“…Walter?”_

He opened his eyes to a couch cushion. His head was propped up on the arm of Barbara’s couch, with his body and head facing inward so his horns and wings wouldn’t slice up the cushions or get caught in the fabric. His feather knives had been removed from his cowl, though the cape itself was draped over him like a makeshift blanket. He slowly curled into a ball, still feeling woozy and not ready to face the brighter lights of the den.

“Walter?” Barbara asked again. Her voice was soothing. “Walt, can you hear me?”

He tried to reply, but his tongue felt like it was made of sand. He coughed. A warm towelette shook free from his temple. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it earlier. A slender hand returned it, then stroked his cheek.

Finally, he looked up, blinking away the spots in his vision. Barbara was a slightly out of focus blur, looking very worried. A larger blob peeked over the couch—a blob he knew had to be AAARRRGGHH!!!

The scent of chocolate filled his nostrils, which meant Toby was somewhere nearby.

“Walter?”

His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to look at her. “Sorry,” he finally croaked.

Her shoulders sagged in relief, though he could still smell her fear. “Can you sit?” she asked after a moment.

Mustering up far more strength than he’d care to admit, Strickler pushed himself onto his elbows, then slowly twisted around to a seated position. Finally, he stretched out his long legs to rest them on the coffee table and recline. His horns just barely cleared the top of the couch as he slumped back. His breathing was ragged and shallow from the effort.

Barbara repositioned the warm towelette. Her face was etched in concern, though Walter could see the doctor side coming out to examine him. “Walt, honey, what happened?”

“I…I don’t know,” he confessed. A cold flash hit him, and he couldn’t stop the full-body shiver.

A thick blanket was tossed over his shoulders. Before he could protest, huge, stony arms wrapped him up inside the blanket like a burrito. He shifted slightly so his wings wouldn’t be awkwardly crushed.

“Cold,” AAARRRGGHH!!! grumbled. “Sick.”

“He doesn’t have a fever,” Barbara said, placing a hand on Strickler’s cheek. He leaned into it.

AAARRRGGHH!!! shook his head. “No fever. Trolls get chill.”

“He’s right,” Strickler confirmed. “Becoming cold is a good indication that a Troll—or Changeling in Troll form—is sick, as the more one’s temperature drops, the more the body is reminiscent of…just stone.”

“You’re turning to stone?” Toby asked, his voice taking on a worried squeak. “Did you get hit with one of those sun poisoned knife things?”

Strickler scoffed. “A Creeper Sun Knife,” he corrected. “No, I was not wounded by one. I merely had a dizzy spell. Perhaps I haven’t eaten enough recently; My experience with keeping up my Troll form’s energy has been rather…lacking.”

Energy had slowly been returning to him, but the chill still remained, so he didn’t remove himself from the blanket burrito. Another shiver passed through him.

Barbara huffed. “Walter, does this have anything to do with that book downstairs?”

He searched his memories. Eventually, he remembered how she’d found him earlier and shook his head. “That’s just an old tome. No magical properties in it whatsoever, I swear.”

“This one?” Toby asked, holding up said book.

At Strickler’s incredulous glance, Barbara explained, “I didn’t want there to be a connection, so I had Toby get it. I didn’t know it wasn’t magical—I just wanted to cover all the bases!”

Toby thumbed through the book, whistling in wonder. “Woah! There’s pics of Krubera in here! And Blinky’s Tribe, I think! Oh, I get it—this book is about Troll Tribes and stuff! Hey, even the Quagawumps got a chapter!”

Strickler immediately regretted allowing his arms to be bound by a blanket. He struggled to break free of his burrito before—

“Is…Is this your Tribe?” Toby asked quietly.

Strickler froze.

Barbara and AAARRRGGHH!! scooted closer to the teen as he read, “_Pterostryx_.”

“Terror sticks?” AAARRRGGHH!! asked.

“There’s a P at the beginning, Wingman,” Toby said. “Like pterodactyl.”

“Puh-Terror Sticks,” was AAARRRGGHH!!! ’s correction.

Toby chuckled. Then, he looked back at the book. “‘_One of the rare species of Trolls that can fly, the Pterostryx Tribe is usually secretive and untrusting of any claiming they want to be allies._’ Sounds like someone we know.”

He flipped the page and stopped smiling. "Whoa..."

“Walter,” Barbara said softly. “These pictures…”

Strickler lowered his gaze. He knew what was on her mind. “That’s what…I would have looked like if I hadn’t been…hadn’t been…changed…”

Pterostryx were not as stick thin as him. The detailed sketches in the book gave them an air of power, like great angels with bat wings. Tall. Imposing. Muscles toned for actual work, hair that didn’t grow in a single patch, colors that made their bodies shine like gems in moonlight. They looked like true Trolls.

He, on the other hand, looked like a child had tried to create a Pterostryx out of a handful of clay and grass. Gangly limbs, knobby joints, hands that were too big, neck too thin, wings (though large and correctly proportioned) barely able to lift him off the ground for long periods of time. Growing up, he figured he’d grow into his odd features, but now he was an adult and growing had only made the differences worse. He was, in every sense of the word, an _embarrassment_ to his Tribe.

Strickler curled back into himself, setting his feet on the couch and wrapping his hands over his knees from within the blanket. Shame emanated from him, and he hated it. He was too old to deal with this! He’d come to terms with his oddness years ago, though his methods for dealing with it (as in, just staying human 90% of the time) weren’t exactly healthy.

Toby and Barbara shared a sad look. The teen closed the book and set it on the coffee table. “Sorry I pried,” he apologized.

He hummed, not sure what to say.

Suddenly, giant arms wrapped around him. AAARRRGGHH!!! had him trapped in a gentle hug, one he wasn’t in the mood to deny. The Krubera purred a bit. “Stricklander not alone.”

Strickler smiled. He supposed he and AAARRRGGHH!!! weren’t _so_ different. Taken as whelps, molded into killers—the only difference was that the Krubera had a place to go once he’d defected. Strickler wouldn’t have had a home—or a life, for that matter—had he chosen to betray Gunmar and the Pale Lady any earlier.

“Thank you, friend,” he muttered, reciprocating the purr.

Suddenly, Barbara wrapped her own arms around him. “We’ll talk about this whenever you’re ready.”

Toby, determined to get in on the group hug, wiggled in underneath one of AAARRRGGHH!!! ‘s arms. “We’re here for you, Mr. S,” he announced proudly.

After a few moments, the hug became awkward. He cleared his throat, signaling everyone to disengage. As nice as the warmth from all three had felt, he honestly didn’t want to spend the night hugging.

“So, anyway, what do we do about this…cold?” Barbara asked. “If you were human, I’d give you some chicken noodle soup and make you sleep it off.”

“Chicken.” AAARRRGGHH!!! licked his lips. “Yum.”

“Any ideas?” Barbara asked the Krubera.

“Keep warm,” he said. “Hot drinks. Rocks and socks.”

Strickler grimaced. “I don’t eat socks.”

Toby gave him an incredulous look. “Really? You and Jim must be in denial about your dietary needs. Blinky said Jim refuses to eat socks, too. Can’t says I blame him—I mean, I wouldn’t either if I grew up wearing some of the stinkiest ones.”

“I honestly don’t like them,” Strickler said. “Not every Troll likes socks. Just like not every human likes chocolate.”

The teen’s horrified look almost made him laugh out loud.

Barbara shook her head. “So, rocks, then?”

“I think I can manage my own diet, darling,” he fussed.

Her lips pursed. “I’m calling Claire. She could get Blinky to make a list of Troll Nutrition. It would probably help them think about Jim’s diet, too.” She faced AAARRRGGHH!!! “Could you move Walter down to the basement? Set him up next to the water heater. Toby, fix something hot—tea, maybe. I’ll get another comforter from the closet.”

And just like that, Strickler was her patient.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blinky explains what's wrong with Strickler, and it's not the common cold.

Walter spent the rest of the night wrapped up in blankets. He alternated between snoozing next to the water heater and attempting to help Barbara do the laundry. His legs shook with effort whenever he stood up, but all in all he seemed to be okay.

A quick call to Claire earlier had gone to voicemail, so she would call again closer to morning. It worried her that she couldn’t get answers on Walt’s illness right away, but there wasn’t much to do except keep him warm and admonish him for poking holes in her sheets with his claws.

Toby had gotten a hold of Notenrique, however, which turned out to be slightly more helpful. The miniscule Changeling had suggested raiding the fallen Trollmarket for some precious stones, or even to try a quarry. AAARRRGGHH!!! had volunteered to make the trip to Trollmarket, since he knew what stones to look for in the rubble.

Walter currently was dozing next to the water heater. Barbara yawned, wishing she could curl up next to him. The heat radiating from the area, though, was too much for her to bear. She couldn’t _believe_ he was shivering over there, wrapped up in thick blankets, next to a water heater so hot it made the air shimmer. It was a wonder the wooden beams hadn’t caught fire.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Seeing the picture of Claire flash on the caller ID, she immediately answered.

_“Doctor Lake?”_ came Claire’s voice. She didn’t sound stressed or worried. Just tired.

Barbara checked the time. 3AM, which meant wherever Jim was (he’d last said they were somewhere around Kansas City) it was nearly sunup—nearly bedtime.

“Hi, Claire,” she greeted. “Sorry to bother you all. I know it’s getting bright over there.”

_“It’s fine. Sorry I missed your call—Jim needed help keeping some of the Trolls corralled while a bunch of conservation officers tried tracking us. Turns out the troopers think a bear is loose and are trying to catch it.”_

“Sounds like an interesting time.”

Walter coughed a few times. Barbara watched as he tried to scoot even closer to the water heater, eyes still closed. She doubted he was even awake.

“Claire, I need to talk to Blinky,” she said quickly. “Walter is…Walter’s sick. I don’t know what else to do.”

_“Whoa, really? Hang on let me—Jim, get Blinky! And tell him to bring some of those health books!”_

A few minutes of fumbling later, Barbara was on speaker with Blinky.

_“You say he’s gotten colder?”_ he asked after a few rushed explanations. Barbara could hear turning pages over the phone. _“How warm is his environment right now?”_

“If I turn the thermostat up any higher, the heat of my home _and_ water heater might set my house on fire. He’s nearly touching the metal surface and is still wrapped up in blankets and shivering!”

_“Oh, my. How is his energy?”_

“He was walking and talking for a bit, but he’s also had to rest multiple times.”

_“What about his coloring?”_

Barbara paused. “His coloring? What do you mean?”

_“Is he paling or greying out at all?”_

“I haven’t checked,” she admitted. “He’s been wrapped up since he first fainted.”

_“Please check, Barbara. It is very important that you do so.” _His voice faded a little, so she assumed he had turned his face away. _“Claire, hand me volume 23. The one with—yes, that one, thank you.”_

Barbara walked over to Walter, immediately breaking out into a sweat in the heat. She thought about just using his face to tell if his colors were off, but with it so close to the extreme heat, she doubted it would be accurate.

She shook his shoulder lightly. “Walter, honey? Please wake up.”

After a few tries, he groaned. His eyes cracked open, unfocused.

“I know you’re still cold,” she said sadly. “But can you open up your cocoon a bit so I can examine your coloring? Or stick an arm out?”

He begrudgingly popped an arm out of his blanket burrito. Barbara gasped. His stone skin was usually serpentine in color, kind of like an asparagus or the inside of an avocado. But now his skin had taken on a sickly pallor, with some healthy skin colors broken up by stripes of lighter sickness. It reminded her of an unripe watermelon or cucumber.

Walter seemed to wake up at the sight of his own arm. His eyes widened. “Oh dear,” he croaked. “That’s not good.”

_“Barbara?”_ called Blinky. _“What’s his coloring?”_

She kept her building emotions in check as she relayed the state of Walter’s skin. Blinky muttered on the other end, flipping through pages quickly.

_“Oh dear,”_ he echoed. _“Barbara, I…”_

“What is it? What’s wrong with Walter?”

_“It appears he…he is Draining.”_

“Draining? What does that mean?”

_“When a Troll has been away from a Heartstone for an extremely long time—and I mean centuries—they are susceptible to a Drain. Without a Heartstone to restore energy, a Troll will slowly waste away until…”_

He’d trailed off, but Barbara knew what the result would be. “You’re saying Walter should have gone with you?”

_“I’m afraid even if he had joined our exodus, he’d still be Draining. Am I on speaker?”_

“No, one moment…there. Now you are.”

_“Stricklander, can you hear me?”_

“Yes,” Walter replied, his voice thick with tiredness.

_“How long has it been since you connected with a Heartstone in your Troll form?”_

Walter’s ears drooped. He looked away and muttered something.

“What?” both Barbara and Blinky asked.

“I’ve never actually…linked to a Heartstone,” Walter confessed.

Blinky went absolutely nuts over the phone. _“NEVER? You can’t be serious! Why, in all my centuries, I have _never_ heard of a Troll who has lived as long as you and--! This is preposterous! Ludicrous!”_

“So is your use of long words,” Walter growled.

_“Have you any idea how you’ve survived this long?”_

“Being a Changeling had its advantages. As a human, I relied on human energy storing methods, which bled over into my Troll form whenever I changed.”

_“Wait,”_ came Jim’s voice. The sound of it made Barbara’s heart soar. _“You were in Trollmarket when Vendel severed the tie between you and Mom. Didn’t you have to connect to the Heartstone then? We were _literally_ inside it!”_

Walter chuckled. “Young Atlas, I was in my human form the entire time, if you’ll recall. The Heartstone affects humans differently, and that includes Changelings in human form.”

“So, how do we fix this?” Barbara asked.

_“Well, I suppose the only way is for Stricklander to get to a Heartstone. Even a small one would do the trick.”_

“Blinky, do you mean to say we need to drive Walter all the way to New Jersey and _hope_ we find the Heartstone there _before_ you all?”

_“Oh, no no! There are far more Heartstones in North America, but the one in New Jersey is the only one large enough to support a population such as Trollmarket’s. Our group hasn’t come across any Heartstones, mostly because we’re avoiding overtaxing a small one. Master Jim, if you could get that scroll there…no, no, the one with the singed edges. Yes, that’s it.”_

Barbara got a text a few moments later. It was a picture, sent from Claire’s phone.

_“Did you get that?”_

“Yes.” She squinted at the crude map of North America. There were no state lines or even country borders. There were two large crystal symbols on either side of the country: Arcadia and Hoboken, she assumed. Various other symbols were scattered around the continent. One was clearly in Florida, and there were a few in the center—probably one near where Jim was currently.

“Are these Heartstone locations?” she asked.

_“All the known ones, yes,”_ was Blinky’s answer. _“They all sustain small Tribes and villages. The map magically updates when a new stone is discovered.”_

_“Looks like the closest one,”_ interjected Claire, her voice fainter than Blinky’s, _“is in Olympia, Washington. At least, I think that’s where it is…the mark is at the Southern tip of the Puget Sound, and that’s right where Olympia should be.”_

Barbara rubbed her face. “Claire, that’s all the way…are you sure?” She examined the map herself, confirming with dread that the second closest would have been around Yellowstone National Park or somewhere along the Southern bit of the Grand Canyon. Both were way too far to drive, and probably would have required a larger risk of walking in sunlight.

_“I’m afraid Miss Claire is right,” _Blinky stated. _“That Heartstone up there is your best shot, though I can’t for the life of me remember which Tribe lives up there…It must be a newly discovered stone, I don’t recall seeing it on the map 200 years ago.”_

He began muttering to himself about which Old World Tribe could have migrated in recent times, going off on his own tangent. Jim’s voice took over the line soon after.

_“Hey Strickler,”_ he said.

Walter raised an eyebrow. “Young Atlas?”

_“Can you make it to Olympia? Has AAARRRGGHH!!! finished clearing out the Gyre Station?”_

“He hasn’t. It’s very slow going, especially with the…what was it, Barbara? Alien invasion?”

_“Tobes told me about that. Sounds_ _crazy." _ A short pause, then, _"How do you plan to get there?”_

“We’ll just have to drive,” Barbara said, her voice determined. “Once we get on Highway 5, it’s a straight shot up there. It might take a day or two, but I can do it.”

_“What about the sun? Strickler, do you have a sun stone amulet or anything to help you?”_

“I’m afraid not,” Walter answered. His speech was slower, Barbara noted. He wouldn’t be awake much longer at this rate.

“We’ll work something out,” she said. “You guys keep doing your best to get to New Jersey. We’ll hurry up to Olympia.”

_“Strickler, you’d better make it,”_ Jim ordered. _“As much as I hate to say this, Mom...Mom loves you. She doesn’t need another man leaving her. So, don’t you dare leave her now!”_

Barbara smiled. She knew that was a hard thing to say for Jim, and she would let it go for now.

Walter’s eyes were closing, but a light chuckle escaped his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Young Atlas,” he finally muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that should be the last quick update. Hopefully it sates you all until I update again! I can't promise any sort of update schedule, I'm afraid.  
Also, I can't remember if it was established in the show whether there were actually more than 2 (Well, 1 now I suppose) Heartstones in America, but for the sake of narrative let's just pretend there are. Because I say so.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler and Barbara need to get to Olympia, Washington. Strickler can't seem to stay awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I lied, since I had a free day I got really inspired so have YET ANOTHER CHAPTER  
I swear it won't be this fast all the time, but I couldn't resist.

One of the perks of being the leader (_ex_-leader?) of the Janus Order was the access to all of its funds. Otto hadn’t done any sort of password changes or major wire transfers in the short time between overthrowing Strickler and inviting every Changeling in the Western hemisphere to their deaths. This meant all of the remaining money—a sum even billionaires might be envious of—was technically Strickler’s to do with as he pleased.

A nice chunk of it had been spent creating an adoption system, which had helped adopt out many of the familiars and even find the families of those who had only recently been switched. Another small bit had been to replace Barbara’s mode of transportation, since he’d technically wrecked her Station Wagon the first time.

The perks of the new car included back seats that extended a bit toward the front to create a cot of sorts, much like some models of trucks, and seat warmers.

Once the back seats were extended, Barbara and Toby had set up a sort of blanket fort in the back of her car and taped towels to the insides of the back passenger windows. The seat bed itself was covered in pillows and blankets; a makeshift nest, courtesy of AAARRRGGHH!!!

Strickler had attempted to help once or twice, but his legs ended up folding under him. This earned him permanent residence inside the car nest while Barbara and Toby continued building their fort and packing for the trip. Dawn was fast approaching, the sun nearly peeking out over the horizon, as they finished preparations.

Though he couldn’t come with them—school was far more important and both Barbara and Strickler were adamant he realize that—Toby still insisted he help them pack. He’d suggested contacting the taco truck driver Stuart for help, but Strickler denied it; Stuart, as well-intentioned as he was, was far too…smelly. The very air around him made Strickler’s nose feel like it was bleeding, no matter if he was in human or alien form. AAARRRGGHH!!! may not have minded the Stuart’s stench, but Strickler certainly did. He would _not_ travel two and a half states in a closed-off car with a walking Bog of Eternal Stench.

Toby had also volunteered to take care of the babies inside the Cradlestone until they returned. This, fortunately, was something Barbara and Strickler agreed to, though they had some reservations.

“No sweat,” Toby said when Barbara voiced her concerns. “Pull a baby out, give him a bottle, change a diaper, put him back! Rinse and repeat.”

“Do you even know how to change a diaper?” Strickler asked, his voice scratchy. He was propped up on one elbow, a horn acting as a curtain holder for the towel in the window as he looked out.

“Pfft, please.” Toby rolled his eyes. “Me and Darci were the only ones in Home Ec that managed to keep our flour baby alive! _And_ I changed its diaper like four times that night! How hard can a real baby be?”

Strickler had a feeling he and Barbara would get a call hours later, anyway. Teaching teenagers for a long time gave one a sixth sense of these things. Even AAARRRGGHH!!! looked dubious at Toby’s crowing.

“Well, if you have any trouble with the baby or can’t seem to put it back, get NotEnrique or call Claire. She has experience babysitting,” Barbara informed him. “My phone number is only for emergencies until Walter gets to that Heartstone. Understood?”

Cold gripped Strickler’s body before he could even hear Toby’s response. He lowered his head, curled into a ball, and rode out the shivering spasm. The shivers were getting stronger—or maybe he was just getting weaker? It was hard to tell.

He glanced underneath his blankets to check his skin. Parts were pale, others were light grey. Any healthy-looking areas were rapidly shrinking. He groaned and bundled back up.

Strickler thought back to when he had crashed Barbara’s car into Trollmarket with her and Jim in tow. At first, he’d been too blind with pain to transform—plus, if he had, the poison from Angor Rot’s dagger would surely have turned him to stone. Once he and Barbara were severed and the poison safely removed from their human bodies, he could have shifted then and there. Trollmarket knew he was a Changeling, so why hadn’t he just transformed?

His thoughts wandered to the excuse that, perhaps if they saw a defenseless, broken human, they might take more mercy on him. They didn’t—except for Jim—but it had been worth a shot.

Now he wished he had transformed, if only so he could have connected with the Heartstone while in its presence. For all his achievements, for all his foresight and ability to adapt, he really was an idiot.

The car revved to life. He glanced up, wondering how Barbara had gotten in without him noticing.

She turned her head to look back at him. With him sprawled out in the back seat, head behind the passenger seat, she could easily turn to check up on him, even for the briefest of seconds. “You secure?”

He nodded.

A heavy knock on the passenger window made Barbara look up. She rolled it down just in time for a giant bag of what sounded like stones to plop into the passenger seat.

“Good rocks,” AAARRRGGHH!!! said. “Good for sick Trolls. Cat hair, too.”

Strickler hoped he meant shed hair and not hairballs.

Barbara fished a rock out of the bag and handed it to Strickler. “Here. You need to eat something.”

He almost refused, but then smiled. “Doctor’s orders.” He chomped down on the stone, his fangs more than capable of slicing and grinding it to dust. After eating almost exclusively human food for such a long time, he still was trying to reacquaint himself with Troll food. It was something he and Jim had in common, something they could talk about without Jim acting too hostile.

He swallowed and laid his head back down. Barbara said her goodbyes to Toby and AAARRRGGHH!!!, then began the long journey to Washington.

* * *

He must have dozed off, because the next thing Strickler knew, his blanket fort was closed up tight. He shifted a little, reaching to pull the front curtain back so he could see Barbara. Something slapped his hand through the curtain, making him yelp.

“No you don’t, Mister,” Barbara chided. “The sun’s still up for another few hours.”

“Ah.” He snuggled deeper into his nest. “Where are we?”

“Just about to hit Portland. Don’t ever tell Jim, but I’ve been going a steady 90.”

“Barbara, what will you do if we get pulled over?”

“Hope for the best.”

Strickler snorted. “You and Jim are more alike than you realize. Improvising seems to be a Lake family trait.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” A few rocks slid under the curtain, followed by a bottle of water. “Since you’re up, you might as well eat.”

He obeyed without question. He knew he was hungry, but he was so tired that he couldn’t even find the energy to care about it. Still, it was better to obey an actual doctor, no matter the species difference.

“When was the last time you rested?” he asked after swallowing the first rock.

“I didn’t,” she confessed. “I think I’m on my fourth cup of coffee.”

Strickler sighed. He should probably be worried about the health of his driver, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to do so. Instead, he checked his body while trying to ignore just how cold lifting the blankets made him. No healthy skin remained, and more grey now streaked through his limbs. He could only imagine what his face must look like.

“Walt?” Barbara’s voice shook a little with worry. He realized he hadn’t said anything in a few minutes.

“Still here,” he mumbled. Then, he yawned.

“Are you?”

A good question. He let out a small chuckle. “Perhaps only barely.”

Damn this Draining. Sleep had never been such a tempting mistress before.

He managed to choke down another blasted rock, and even drank some water. The moment the liquid hit his stomach, another shiver passed through him. He groaned and closed his eyes. The cold was numbing everything, even his mind. In moments—minutes? Seconds? –he couldn’t remember why he was awake in the first place.

“Walt?”

“Still…still…” He couldn’t remember what he wanted to say, so he burrowed into his nest. It was so warm, yet he was freezing. Why couldn’t he stop shivering?

Reality faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for some anxiety, dear readers, because the next chapter's gonna HURT  
Special shoutout to DarkInuFan who reminded me Stuart was a dude that exists, so I figured he should at least get a special mention, even if he won't be used.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've made it to Olympia.......but where is the Heartstone?

Every time she had to stop for gas, Barbara felt like she was wasting precious time. She’d only had to stop a few times, but it was still like a punch in the gut.

At least this final stop for gas was _in_ Olympia. After 12 long hours of speeding up the highway, she’d made it to the Promise Land. The only problem was…she had no idea where the Olympia Heartstone _was_.

As she filled up, she called Jim. Her son relayed the problem to Blinky immediately.

_“Well…um…oh, dear, this is embarrassing. Let’s see…”_ Barbara heard papers rustling and curses flying. At least, she thought they were curses. Trollish was still a new concept to her. _“I’m trying to cross-reference the Heartstone map with the Gyre system. Great Gronka Morka, why are none of these Gyre maps detailed better? When we get to New Jersey, I will have to see about updating all of these blasted papers!”_

Blinky prattled on for several minutes, enough time for Barbara to finish filling up the car and park it legally so she could check on Walter.

She pulled back the curtain, gasping softly at the sight. He had forsaken the blankets and curled inward on himself with his wings covering his body. Every bit of him looked ghastly and grey. Some rocks she had shoved back earlier lay untouched, their color nearly matching Walter’s skin.

Walter’s breathing was ragged and uneven. He gasped for breath every few moments, almost as if he couldn’t swallow enough air.

Barbara reached back to tuck him back into the nest. He didn’t react.

_“Barbara?”_ called Blinky. _“Are you still there?”_

She cleared her throat and closed up the fort. “He’s getting worse,” she muttered, choking back a sob. “Blinky…he’s getting worse!”

It was hard for her to watch someone just waste away like this. She was a doctor, for God’s sake! She should be helping him, not sitting by and crying! She should do something…anything…!

_“Miss Claire is helping triangulate this blasted Heartstone, Barbara.”_ She could tell he was trying to stay calm. For her sake. For Walter’s sake. _“She and Master Jim are ‘goggling’ with their phones about any sort of strange events that might seem Trollish.”_

_“It’s Googling,”_ Jim shouted in the background.

_“Googling, yes, I said that. Through our combined efforts, it seems we may have a more specific area inside of Olympia.”_

“Where?” she demanded.

_“There’s a college in the Western half of the city, deep in the woods,”_ came Claire’s voice. _“It’s called Evergreen State.”_

_“Home of the Geo…ducks,”_ Jim said with an odd tone. Barbara assumed his face must be scrunched up in confusion. The thought almost made her laugh. Almost.

_“Gooey,”_ Claire corrected. _“Spelled Geo, said Gooey. I know it’s weird. Anyway, there’s always been sort of odd sightings around there, since they’re smack in the middle of a pine forest. Most of the time, the news chalks it up to the student population being high or something. But all of the descriptions are pretty…Strickler-like. Wings, horns, kinda tall, mostly green.”_

Barbara nodded silently, not that Claire would be able to see it.

_“Mom,”_ Jim said. _“How far away are you?”_

She checked Google Maps on Walter’s phone, which she’d brought along just in case. “We’re near Tumwater, but it’s not difficult to get there. It’ll take about 20 minutes, maybe?”

_“The sightings are a bit _before_ the college,”_ Blinky informed her. _“Past this weird circle road, but before the college itself.”_

Weird circle road?

“A…roundabout?” she inquired.

After a pause, Claire responded, _“He meant roundabout, yeah.”_

It wasn’t much, but it was better than driving around Olympia and _hoping_ to maybe spot a goblin or Troll. She said goodbye and hung up, checked Walter one more time—still terrible—and started off towards Evergreen State College.

The sun had set a while ago, so the highway leading to the direction of the college had a very spooky vibe to it. It didn’t help that rain had begun to fall, too, which caused traffic to slow a bit. Barbara cursed the Pacific Northwest’s weather.

Eventually, she exited the interstate and found the roundabout. Following the signs, she turned towards the college. Since no one was following her or coming towards her, Barbara pulled off the road and into the woods. Once she figured they were deep enough, she shut off the car and turned off the lights.

Rushing out, she opened a back passenger door and shook Walter. “Walter, please wake up. We have to get out.”

It took quite a while to rouse him, and Barbara noticed with dread that his eyes weren’t glowing. They weren’t even focusing on her—he only looked out of the car, gaze foggy. His limbs shook with effort as he climbed out of his nest and into the rain. Barbara offered his cloak, but he didn’t seem to understand. He merely stared at it with the same foggy eyes, pupils blown wide but lids half-closed.

She decided to wrap one of Walter’s arms over her shoulders, then clasped the cloak over both of them in a desperate attempt to keep them somewhat dry. The feather knives, which had been replaced last night during one of Walter’s more lucid waking moments, dug into her neck. She chose to ignore them.

Taking one last glance at the car, she forced Walter to lean on her and started walking into the forest. If there were any magical creatures out here, she hoped they would see a Troll in distress and come help.

“Wh…where…?” Walter rasped. His voice was very faint.

“Near a college,” she said breathlessly. “And hopefully close to the Heartstone.”

“Ssssstone…”

She dared to look at him. His face was scrunched up as if he were confused.

“Sss…ssstone…close?” he grunted. Barbara gulped and nodded, though he probably didn’t see it. His words were very simple, almost as if he had forgotten how to speak at all.

“Yes,” she finally said. “We’re close. Just hang on a little longer, Walt…”

After a few minutes of stumbling around in the dark forest, Barbara began to call for help. She hoped a Troll might hear them more than anything. The sharp yells at first had made Walter flinch, but as time wore on, he didn’t react. His breathing took on a horrendous rattling sound, and his wings dragged behind them in the mud and pine needles.

His shivering only got worse as they walked. One particularly bad spasm almost sent Barbara crashing into his chest, as he’d suddenly jerked the arm around her shoulder inward in an attempt to curl into himself. She resolved to hug him, hoping her body heat was enough to lessen the shudder. After a minute, he stilled enough to resume their search.

Barbara didn’t know how long they’d spent out in that forest. Once or twice they’d nearly wandered out onto the campus, and she made sure to back Walter away from the lamp lights. She doubted any entrance to a Troll Tribe would be in the middle of a college campus, so they doubled back into the woods. As soon as they were far enough away, she resumed yelling for help.

As she called, her voice growing hoarse, her heart pounded. Dread filled her stomach. She found that she had to stop and hug Walter more and more, his strength weakening as his spasms grew more powerful.

Then they slipped in the mud, and Walter fell onto his side, taking her with him. They hit the ground hard, wet mud splashing around them. She wiped some off her glasses. When she tried to stand, her foot throbbed in pain. She grunted, knowing she’d probably twisted it.

Ignoring the pain in her foot, Barbara crawled closer to Walter.

“Walt, come on,” she urged. “We have to keep going. We have to find that Heartstone.”

She shook his shoulder, but he continued to lay still and unresponsive. His eyes were closed tight. Panic swelled inside her as she pressed her ear to his icy chest. A dull, very weak heartbeat thumped. Just barely.

She screamed desperately for help. It didn’t matter now if a resident student or a Troll found them. Walter was dying, and she would be damned if he did it here in the mud.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of sitting in the mud and screaming, Barbara saw a light. It was a weak beam, and—oddly—blue. Not LED blue, but the blue of a glow worm in a cave. It bounced around, like if someone were holding a flashlight as they walked.

She waved her hands, then took out one of the feather knives and waved it. She hoped the metal would catch the light and bounce it back to the source.

“Hello?” someone called. Their voice was deep but sounded friendly enough. “Is someone out here?”

“Help!” Barbara continued waving her hands (and the knife). “Over here! We need help!”

She ran excuses through her head, hoping that whoever was out here would believe they were LARPers that got separated from their campaign group.

As the light drew closer, she began to make out a figure. The rain was getting heavier even under the pines, but she could see he was very tall. The light grew brighter, and Barbara squinted.

“I know this may seem weird,” she yelled over the downpour. “But…my friend is dying! I know he looks scary, but I promise he’s not going to hurt you—”

“Great Maddux,” the figure cursed aloud.

The light was set on the ground near Walter’s head. It wasn’t a flashlight at all, but some sort of glowing crystal. Barbara looked up at the figure and could finally make out some features; dark green skin that blended into the shadows, eyes that had a slight glow, ivory horns illuminated by the glow of the crystal…

This was a Troll. Somehow, impossibly, they’d found a member of Walter’s Tribe!

“Please,” she begged. “Please help him…He’s Draining.”

That was apparently all the Troll needed to know. He turned his head and gave a sharp whistle. Suddenly, a second figure dropped onto the ground nearby. From what Barbara could tell, it was another Troll—and they looked similar to Walter as well.

“You’re faster,” the first Troll said sharply. “Fly him to the Heartstone and get Hadeaya. This poor Troll is Draining.”

The second Troll bent down and scooped up Walter. In the few brief seconds they were illuminated, Barbara could see that they were maybe a soft jade color. Their eyes widened when they hefted Walter’s full weight into their arms, and she knew it had to be out of concern for his light weight.

Without warning, Barbara was also swept into a pair of arms. She yelped and instinctively wrapped her arms around the culprit’s neck.

The Trolls began to run, long legs helping them bound through the pines effortlessly. Barbara took off her glasses, a habit developed from all the times Walter took off with her in his grasp. The Troll now holding her glanced down, a confused look crossing his shadowed features.

And then they took off. Barbara had but a split second to notice Walter and his carrier had left the ground before she joined them. To her credit, she swallowed down the startled cry that had wanted to burst forth. The Trolls flew them above the pines, circling the college like buzzards before speeding away. Barbara had no idea what direction they were flying in, but it wasn’t long before they sharply dove downward.

She saw a large body of water quickly approaching and clutched her Troll tighter. A soft chuckle reverberated against her.

Another sharp turn and they were flying down a rocky beach. At the edge of the beach, nearly hidden amongst fallen logs and brush, lay a large boulder surrounded by smaller rocks. They landed next to it before Barbara could even process the sight.

The Troll holding Walter shifted and brought out an orange gem. They drew a doorway. Once the entrance opened up, they took off again.

Barbara and her carrier followed at a slower pace.

The crystal staircase was similar to the one from Trollmarket, though Barbara barely remembered it.

Soon, they entered a large cavern lined with petrified pines as tall as redwoods. Each of the trees was decorated with glowing gems and lights, all unique to each other. Smaller trees dotted the open spaces, also petrified. Signs hung from many areas near the bases while the trunks had various windows and balconies. The tops of the tallest trees seemed to melt into the ceiling of the cavern, some lower branches twisting out towards the center and creating a small arena.

All of it seemed to be dipped inside a natural amphitheater, with the bottom layer in the center almost exclusively taken up by a large green-yellow gem.

The gem, Barbara assumed, was probably the Heartstone. It wasn’t at all as grand as Arcadia’s, probably about half that size. However, it glowed brightly, almost pulsing as Walter was flown closer.

Barbara hoped they weren’t too late.

Her ride ended soon enough. They swooped low and landed smoothly outside the Heartstone. A bead curtain hung in the entrance, some lines still swinging from where Walter and his carrier had flown in. Already Barbara could hear panicked shuffling.

She moved to enter, but the Troll that had carried her held her back. She glared at the Troll after putting her glasses back on.

“Let me in,” she snarled. “I need to be there for Walter!”

The Troll blinked in surprise. “I can’t let you in,” he said. “Our shaman would have a fit if a human entered before he had a chance to—”

She tried to brush past him. Maybe if she had been slightly bigger it would have worked. The Troll pushed her back again.

“Please,” he softly pleaded. “You need to calm down.”

She paused. The Troll in front of her, now that she could see him, looked eerily similar to Walter. Even his horns were similar in shape, though they were smaller in size. His coloring was darker, a shade more akin to the _outside_ of an avocado, rather than the inside. He was much thicker, too; Built like a linebacker, his arms were so thick Barbara imagined an egg would shatter between his muscles if he flexed. Yet his face was so like Walter’s, from the hooked bird-like nose right down to the concerned frown with the great underbite. It spooked her.

The moment passed and she pointed a finger at him, deliberately prodding him in his large, stony chest. “Listen here,” she spat. “My name is Dr. Barbara Lake. My son is the _Trollhunter_—the one that just defeated _Gunmar_, if you haven’t heard—and that Troll in there is a dear, dear friend of mine. If he dies alone—without a single friend who truly loves him by his side—I would never be able to forgive myself. So, I’m going in there whether you like it or not!”

The Troll was so startled by her outburst that he just gaped at her. Maybe it was the statement she’d made about being the Trollhunter’s mother, or maybe it was that she just yelled at him like he was a disobedient teen. Whatever the reason, the Troll blinked and actually backed up a step.

“The Trollhunter’s mother, you say?” an old, scratchy voice said behind her.

Barbara turned and faced the newcomer. This Troll was old, and she got a brief memory flash of Vendel. The two were similar in terms of age and maybe body shape, but really that was the end of it. This Troll was a pale minty color, his stone skin cracked and worn with age. His white hair sat like a spike on the top of his head, but also came down to drape over his shoulders and halfway down his chest. Various gems and baubles were braided within the hair. His horns, a slightly darker shade of green than his skin, curled around his pointed ears like a ram.

He stared at Barbara with intense blue eyes—not blind or milky like Vendel’s, but true blue, like the midday sky. “We’d heard the Amulet had chosen a human,” he grumbled. “But we never thought we’d meet the Chosen’s _mother_. Tell me what has happened.”

Barbara explained Walter’s situation as quickly as she could. The elder Troll’s eyes widened when she mentioned the Draining.

“I won’t leave him,” she snapped. “So if you tell me I can’t go inside, I will…I will…” What was it Toby and Jim liked to say? “I’ll use _Rule #3_ on you!”

The Trolls both snorted, but the younger one backed away a step all the same. The elder shook his head with a small smile. “Fine,” he finally rasped. “You may enter. But do stay out of the way.” He faced the younger Troll. “You make sure she stays in one place. Don’t let her near the patient.”

Barbara nearly protested the rule but held her tongue at the last second. If this was a Troll doctor, then she—as a doctor herself—would have to yield.

They quickly entered the Heartstone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the light dissipated, everyone held still. No one moved. No one breathed.

Barbara was no stranger to emergency treatment. Bodies crammed into a small space, a single patient strapped to a bed or gurney, the smell of blood and disinfectant heavy in the air. Beeps and alarms, gasps for breath, screams from family members in the waiting room. She could identify an emergency situation pretty easily, and that was based on heavy experience.

The inside of the green Heartstone was not a familiar setting. Stone tables and low shelves lined the walls, covered with moss, gems, herbs, and dead creatures Barbara didn’t really want to identify. The natural light of the Heartstone was enough to illuminate the inner sanctum, though there were several glowing gems on the tables anyway. There were no recognizable medicines or pieces of equipment.

Two stone slabs (tables? beds?) sat in the center of the room. One lay unoccupied, the other held Walter. He was on his side, facing away from Barbara. He was so still and grey he could have been one of those weird cemetery headstone statues.

The Troll that had carried him was attempting to cover him with a ragged blanket. They muttered something, stroking Walter’s shoulder. When they ran to a shelf to grab something, they tripped and snarled, “Get out of here, wretched child!”

A small shape skittered away, out into Barbara’s view. It was a young Troll whose green color was so dark it almost looked black. They screeched when the older Troll threw a book at them.

“Your bad luck will send this poor Troll to his death before Hadeaya can even get here!” the older Troll yowled. “Get out!”

Barbara was nearly knocked over as the child fled. She stumbled a bit, swallowing a yelp as she put weight on her bad foot.

The two Trolls from before—she’d internally begun calling them Dark Avocado and Green Vendel—entered behind Barbara. Dark Avocado cried out in alarm when the child skittered under his feet and disappeared outside.

Green Vendel—actually, Barbara had a feeling his name was Hadeaya based on context clues—rushed to Walter. He pushed the other standing Troll aside, muttering for them to leave the Heartstone altogether.

“But Hadeaya,” they protested.

“Out.”

The Troll left, sparing a confused glance at Barbara. Dark Avocado shrugged and shook his head.

Eventually, Barbara was helped up onto the second slab. She drew her knees to her chest, Walter’s cape draping around her.

Hadeaya held one of his huge hands over Walter, muttering something in Trollish. The Heartstone began to glow brighter and brighter. Barbara remembered flashes of her time inside Arcadia’s Heartstone, when Vendel did something similar to her and Walt. Warmth flooded the room, Walter’s form began to shine, and the light became brighter. The glowing stones throughout the room also began to brighten.

And then, just when the light was too much to bear, the Heartstone pulsed. A shockwave of light and mist bloomed outward from Walter’s body. Barbara felt a warm shiver shoot up her spine, and she noticed both Hadeaya and Dark Avocado steady themselves, their wings quivering.

When the light dissipated, everyone held still. No one moved. No one breathed.

And then Walter did.

A huge gasp erupted from his prone form. His wings flared out behind him and his form swelled with air. A weak shriek echoed through the chamber as he exhaled.

That was enough for Barbara to jump off her slab. She limped over to rest in front of him, cupping his cheek with one hand.

His eyes cracked open and he managed a smile. “Bar…bara…”

His voice was scratchy, weaker than she’d ever heard it, but it made her laugh. Tears pricked at her eyes. “Hey, there,” she muttered happily.

His smile grew a little, his fangs shining in the Heartstone’s light. “Did…Did we make it…?”

“Yeah. We made it, Drama Queen,” she quipped. “You cut it really close.”

A weak chuckle rumbled in his throat. “I’ve always…had a flair for suspense, darling…”

Barbara laughed again and pressed their foreheads together. Walter purred for a few seconds before choking it down.

A large hand patted Barbara’s shoulder. She looked up at Hadeaya with an annoyed frown. To the elder Troll’s credit, he didn’t flinch or back away.

“Your foot,” he said. At her confused expression, he clarified, “Your foot is hurt. Shall I help it heal or do you wish to keep using it until it falls off?”

She bristled, but allowed him to bend down and wrap her ankle in some natural bandages slathered with what she hoped was medicinal liquids. To her, it didn’t have any smell, but apparently Troll noses could get a whiff of the stuff just fine. Hadeaya twitched his large, bird-like nose in disgust briefly as he handled Barbara’s ankle.

By the time it was finished, Walter had fallen asleep again. Barbara didn’t complain; the poor Changeling had been through a lot and his body needed time to recover.

Meanwhile, Dark Avocado padded up and faced Hadeaya. “What was that?” he asked. “That burst of energy was so…different.”

Hadeaya stroked part of his hair in thought. “Well…I have a theory I must first discuss with Plutarch. And maybe…no, no, just Plutarch for the moment.”

Dark Avocado tilted his head. “A theory? Is it bad? Was this Troll the cap limit on our Heartstone or something? Do we have to migrate again?”

The elder Troll waved his hand in dismissal. “No, no, foolish boy! Nothing quite that foreboding. I have a feeling this will be good news for the Tribe. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He brushed past the younger Troll, heading to the entrance with more speed than Barbara had initially given him credit for. Before exiting, Hadeaya turned and said, “Oh, and do look after those two until I return. Make sure the human stays here and…our guest doesn’t run off.”

Barbara doubted Walter had the strength to go anywhere at the moment. Before she could voice such a concern, though, Hadeaya was gone.

A few minutes of quiet passed between the three inside the Heartstone. Barbara stroked Walter’s hair as he slept. Dark Avocado paced awkwardly around. He picked up and shelved the book the other Troll had thrown.

“So,” Barbara began tentatively. “I never caught your name.”

He smiled at her warmly. “Ozlius. But you can call me Oz.”

She smiled back. “And you can call me Barbara. This is Walter Strickler, though I think other Trolls prefer calling him…Stricklander. I’m sure he’ll tell you what he prefers soon enough.”

Oz walked over to a small bucket on one of the tables. “I’d offer you something to eat, but uh…”

“Don’t worry about it. I can wait.” Truth be told, she hadn’t eaten since crossing over the California border, but she could handle going without food for a long time. “You wouldn’t happen to have any water, though, would you?”

“That I _can_ provide.” He picked up the bucket and poured its contents into a nearby cup. “Hadeaya usually keeps a water bucket in here for long, sleepless days. I’m sure he won’t mind sharing.”

He handed her the cup and sat down on the edge of Walter’s stone bed, right by his feet. “So, this…Walter… How long have you known him? It’s not every day a human is ‘dear, dear friends’ with a Troll, after all. Even around here that’s an uncommon occurrence.”

Barbara sipped the water. “Would you believe me if I said he used to be my son’s High School History teacher?”

Oz tilted his head. “Your son…the Trollhunter, right? Interesting. I didn’t know humans in California had Trolls for teachers!”

“Oh, no no! Walter was posing as a human at the time. I hadn’t known he was a Troll until last Spring.”

Oz’s eyes widened. His breathing nearly stopped. “Posing as…you mean he’s a…Changeling?”

Barbara inwardly winced. She’d forgotten that Changelings were still a sore subject to Trolls not named AAARRRGGHH!!! or Blinky. “Well, yes…that won’t be a problem, will it?”

Oz was silent for a minute. He looked at Walter with wide eyes, his gaze thoughtful.

“Oz?”

He met her eyes. A smile tugged at his lips. “I…I can’t believe it…”

“Believe what?”

Oz sucked in a breath to answer, but the entrance beads being moved announced the arrival of someone else. Both of them looked to the newcomers, one of whom was Hadeaya. The other was an even older Troll, whose horns rose into the air like Draal’s had. His white hair was more like a mane, much like Vendel’s and AAARRRGGHH!!! ‘s. The gems braided into his mane made him look akin to a magpie. His stone skin was a pleasing shade of turquoise.

The new Troll commanded a serious presence, one that made Barbara bow her head in respect. Oz had scrambled off the slab and acted submissive instantly.

“Plutarch,” Oz said. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Plutarch greeted, his voice slightly frosty. He glanced at Barbara but addressed Hadeaya. “Is that human the reason our Heartstone pulsed?”

Hadeaya shook his head. “No, no. It reacted strongly to _him_.” He pointed to Walter, who was still asleep but fidgeting. “As if it had been _waiting_ for him.”

Plutarch bent forward and sniffed the sleeping Troll. His eyes went wide. “Could it be…?”

“I-I think he is,” Oz blurted. He shuffled his feet anxiously. “Barbara just said he is a Changeling!”

Plutarch and Hadeaya snapped their heads towards Barbara. She tried not to squirm under their gazes. Hadeaya motioned for her to step away. Plutarch guided her towards one of the shelves against the wall, Oz following close behind.

“Is this true?” Plutarch asked, his voice low. “Is this Troll truly a Changeling?”

She gulped. “Y-Yes…But he’s not planning anything, I swear! If you’re worried he’ll do something to your Heartstone, I promise he won’t. And if you try to hurt him, I’ll make sure you regret it!”

The elders had different reactions to that threat. Plutarch merely blinked in surprise, but Hadeaya laughed. Even Oz smiled.

“Barbara,” Oz began, “we’re not gonna hurt him for being a _Changeling_.”

“But…But other Trolls would,” she protested. Wasn’t that what Blinky and Walter had said? Even Notenrique would complain about the discrimination from time to time—hence why he had chosen to stay in Arcadia and not travel to New Jersey. “Aren’t Changelings considered a taboo topic?”

“My lady.” Plutarch placed a hand on her shoulder, firm but gentle. “We of the Pterostryx Tribe are very welcoming to Changelings—provided they have no ulterior motives. Changelings are Trolls, just like us, and deserve to be judged as such.”

Barbara tilted her head. “Really?”

“Besides,” Hadeaya interjected. “Your friend was _Draining_ when he came in. Even if we were as unwelcoming as some of our brethren, it would be cruel to cast him out now.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief. Then, she furrowed her brow and faced Plutarch. “If I may ask, why _are_ you willing to help Changelings? I’m still new to Troll society standards, but wouldn’t that make you rather unpopular?”

Plutarch chuckled. “It’s one of the reasons we’re not represented on the Tribunal, of course. But we’ve been sympathetic to Changelings since the beginning. We’re used to being outliers in Troll society.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t you think it rather savage to disown a child stolen from your own nursery and subjected to unspeakable tortures?” Hadeaya growled. “A child who had no choice in the beginning, forced to become what others would call _Impure_. Attitudes like that are what drove their lost whelps further into darkness, further into madness.”

Barbara’s eyes widened.

Hadeaya continued, his voice taking on a dark tone. “We Pterostryx have only lost _one_ whelp to the horrors of Morgana. _One_, whom we fought to protect when he was stolen away. _One_, for whom we spent centuries waiting in the Old World, hoping he would find his way home again. _One_, and only one.”

She knew exactly which one he meant. “Walter.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instincts run wild, and when one has a terrible flashback nightmare, it doesn't bode well for the subsequently awakened mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Flashbacks, anxiety attacks, small mental manipulation

When one is over a thousand years old, memories stack up. Even for a Troll, they are heavy burdens. Sometimes, those burdens weigh more than one wants.

For Strickler, his burdensome memories were filed away, deep in the recesses of his mind, mostly for his own sanity. Remembering bits and pieces of large events—mostly human in nature—was an easy way to cope; it allowed him to focus on one or two things instead of _all_. It was one of the reasons he liked teaching History. Every once in a while, however, there would be thoughts and flashes of events past that reared their ugly heads. In these moments, Strickler would usually find himself isolated—in either his living quarters or in some random cave—to ride out the wave of panic.

It was this way with many Changelings, unfortunately. Most of them suffered from what humans eventually would call PTSD and depression. Many of them had flashbacks. Many of them took out their anxiety on others. Many of them died without giving or receiving help.

For Strickler, it wasn’t exactly what he’d done that made him feel panicked or truly alone. His silver tongue worked on a lot of people—himself included. He could convince himself what he did was the necessary option, and it usually worked. And if it didn’t, he dealt with the personal fallout by blaming someone else.

What _did_ get under his skin was all the abuse he’d suffered. Crawling his way to the top of the Janus Order meant he had to endure hardships that would break the weak-willed. And even then, when he’d finally become the boss, he still had to accept the punishments doled out by that brute, Bular. Punishments that always left a mark on his memory and haunted him even centuries after the fact.

Memories like these almost always resurfaced in Strickler’s dreams. In these dreams, he relived all that had transpired, all he’d done, and all that was done to him.

Most of the time, these nightmares were of what Bular had done. Choked him, beaten him, impaled him through the shoulder—_that_ _one_ was the most frequent visitor. In these cases, he would wake up feeling unsafe, but the logical side of his brain would be strong enough to douse any sort of instinctual backlash the nightmare had created.

This time, however, was not a standard sequence.

He was not Stricklander, riding out the pain of Bular’s temper. He was not a rank-and-file Changeling, clawing his way through the ranks by doing the dirty work. He wasn’t even Walter Strickler, a man committing terrible crimes against humanity in the dark while acting innocent in the light.

In this sequence, he was merely a whelp.

This was a memory buried deep, deep within him, and he knew it. Strickler was no fool; he knew the worst the moment he stood up on tiny legs. His wings were so small they couldn’t even hold him in a glide. His horns were mere nubs. He was too small, too weak to defend himself.

And that was what Morgana had wanted. A weak little whelp who had no hope of fighting back.

The cage in which he was held was barely large enough for standing. There was barely any light to see by, though he doubted he _wanted_ to see the horrors of the Gumm-Gumm dungeons. The ground was hard and wet and cold, the walls equally so.

He had no name—he had been too young for one before he’d been taken. At first the only constant he could think of was his body: Wings, claws, tiny horns and teeth. But the more the Gumm-Gumms beat him, the more they insulted him, the more he questioned who and what he was. He’d tried fighting back once. They’d merely laughed and pounded him into the ground for his insolence. He didn’t do that again.

So, as he crouched in his tiny cage, nursing a claw scrape in his abdomen, he tried very hard not to cry. Everything always hurt. He wanted to go home.

“Oh, but my dear,” a female voice purred out of nowhere. “You _are_ home.”

His head shot up. A figure clad in golden armor was standing in front of his cage. It was a human woman! How had she gotten there?

He scrambled back as far as he could, breath hitching. He hissed, thinking a human might leave him alone if he seemed threatening enough.

She merely laughed. It was a sweet sound, mesmerizing. “What a feisty youngling,” she said. “Is this a Pterostryx?”

Suddenly, Gunmar’s voice boomed nearby. “Yes. Harder to obtain than those Stalkling whelps. And harder to break.”

“Well, what _ever_ have they done to you?” She was talking to him, not Gunmar. “Poor child, abandoned and alone in this dark world…”

“My…my parents…” His voice was rough, mostly from disuse. “…they didn’t…leave me.”

“Oh, sweet child. Where are they, then?”

He never liked to think about that. About how he’d spent so long in the dark with no rescue party. About how each day passing only eroded his faith in his Tribe more. He sniffled and looked away, his lower lip trembling traitorously.

The cage was opened, but he didn’t move to escape. He closed his eyes, preparing for the worst; a punch, a kick, a slap, even a slice…

He didn’t expect a soft, very human hand to stroke his cheek. He dared to peek, reeling from the unexpected softness after the hard claws of the Gumm-Gumm soldiers.

The woman’s vibrant green eyes— the only thing on her face (aside from her mouth) not obscured by a giant golden mask—were sparkling. Her smile was gentle.

“Child, you are more than an abandoned whelp. You are home, and you can be loved if you obey.” Her hand wandered upwards, towards his horn nubs. Her fingers twisted into his hair. “And you have the potential to be a great warrior. Perhaps even the best.”

Gunmar grunted but didn’t comment.

“Would you like to come with me?” she asked, her voice dripping like honey. “I can give you a new family, the strength to defeat armies, powers _beyond_ your imagination. I can give you freedom from this fate your _old_ family decided for you.”

Her hand continued stroking his hair. Her words seeped into his skin and latched onto his heart. She seemed so nice, so loving. Like his…like his mama had been, once. Maybe this human could be his new mama?

He allowed her to sweep him into her arms. She kissed his forehead. “There’s a good boy.”

She took him out of that small cage. Out of the Gumm-Gumm dungeon that held other whelps like him, who would soon fall for the same sweet smile and honeyed words. She took him away.

And she destroyed him.

Where Gunmar and his brutes had broken his body, _she_ had broken his mind. She twisted, pulled, pushed, and broke every little bit of what he _could_ have been. She forced his body to shrink, to grow, to _change_ into something it _never_ should have been able to become. She ruined him.

She denied everything to him, including his ability to run away. Who would love him now? Now that he was _Impure_, only she would love him. Only she could give him the freedom he so craved, the freedom to live with his new brothers and sisters in peace while the rest of the world burned. His _old_ family would shun him, would kill him on sight—so he might as well learn to kill them first.

And yet, she was his goddess. She made sure to tell him what he needed to hear. Hate the old, love the new. She had done this for his own good, and one day he would reap the benefits. One day, happiness would be his, all thanks to _her_. As long as he obeyed.

_“You are mine,”_ she always whispered in his ear. _“You are mine forever…”_

His heart raced. Memories flew by and suddenly he recalled who he was. He was Stricklander, a Changeling, an Impure who had _betrayed _his mistress. He remembered the night he’d openly defied her, when she’d been inside Claire. She’d nearly won him back, nearly driven him to his knees in submission, and somehow he’d resisted long enough for that blasted Blinkous to save him.

But the memory of that night made his heart beat faster than before. Her eyes—her beautiful, deadly, green eyes—speared through his eyelids and somehow he had enough coherence to _wake up_ from that nightmare memory.

He opened his eyes to brightness, to a green not unlike _her_ eyes. It surrounded him indefinitely and it made him want to hurl.

She must have escaped the Shadow Realm! She must have found him! She was going to destroy him!

He attempted to run, but his legs were caught in something. Some sort of thick fabric to keep him in place, to tangle his limbs. His wings flared and he felt something—someone—get hit by them. He rolled in an attempt to detangle his legs, which only resulted in him falling to the ground. Apparently, he’d been on a bed or table…

Someone spoke—someone _female_. He hissed, spit flying.

The bright green of his surroundings made his head pound. A woman—a human woman—was crouching, her hands up. He couldn’t understand her words, so he assumed she was muttering a spell. A spell to hurt him, to incapacitate him, to make him obey…he didn’t want to submit this time.

He kicked his legs out, finally freeing himself of the wretched cloth. At the same time, he swiped at _her_ with his claws. He was bigger, now. He was older, stronger, faster. And he would never allow her to control him again, not without a fight!

She yelped in alarm, barely dodging his flailing hand.

He leapt up on all fours, spreading his wings wide. He reached for his feather knives, but realized with horror that they were not there! His breath quickened and he reevaluated his strategy. More figures—larger than _her_, probably Gumm-Gumms—approached, their growls and postures low and threatening.

He roared in defiance and jumped. Soaring over _her_ and the table he’d fallen off of earlier, his wings caught just enough moving air to keep him aloft. He shot towards an area of darkness that broke the unlimited bubble that was _her_ green cage.

Something entangled in his horns and hair. He screeched and flailed, falling to the ground just outside _her_ green. Something dangled from one of his horns, jingling in his ear and drowning out shouts from the Gumm-Gumms.

He scrambled upright and flapped his wings. Soon enough, he was airborne and flying away from the horrible _green of her magic_.

He didn’t recognize this place. It was underground, but it was entirely unfamiliar. It wasn’t Trollmarket, it wasn’t the Darklands, and it certainly wasn’t the Janus Order. The surroundings were more of a blur than anything since he was flying at top speed, so it added to his disorientation. He kept flying into things—lights, cloth, random branches or signs—and eventually he was forced to land.

Panting heavily, heart racing, he leaned against a tall structure in the shadows. He seemed to be isolated enough, and any soldiers beyond his hiding spot weren’t seeing him. Scents mingled in his nose and he forced down bile. He recognized _nothing_. Where was he? How had he gotten here? How had Morgana escaped and captured him?

He crouched low, letting out a small keen. Instincts long-buried raged within him, not allowing him space to breathe and calm down. His anxiety flared and he felt like _everyone_ knew where he was now. He pressed himself further into the shadows, wrapping his wings around himself to make up for the absence of his cloak. This was it. He was paralyzed with fear, just as he had been as a whelp. Morgana would soon find him again and he would pay for his treachery. He was going to suffer…

Without warning, a new scent emerged. It was warm, the smell of mildew and mountain boulders hitting his nose pleasantly. It reminded him of…of…

He clamored out from the shadows, nose to the air. His heartbeat pulsed in his throat, but this time it was out of excitement, not fear. He followed the beautiful scent further into the unfamiliar territory, avoiding the detection of Morgana’s green servants.

Soon, he came upon a great petrified structure—a tree, he finally discerned. The scent led upwards, so he willingly followed it, claws piercing the dead tree easily. Up and up he climbed, heading for a landing balcony. He scrabbled up, grasping for purchase only once before lifting his stone body onto the balcony. The scent drifted out from this place, and so he barged in.

He knew this scent. He knew it so well he would never be able to forget it, no matter how much Morgana broke him. He found the owner just inside, on a stone chair, reading.

He rushed forward and buried his nose in her shoulder before she could protest. His wings instantly wrapped around both her and her chair. A purr erupted from his sore throat, and tears welled in his eyes.

After a yelp of surprise and a cautionary sniff, the scent owner slowly wrapped her own wings around him. She hugged him tight, squeezing as if she would never let go again.

He let her. He knew he was safe here. Morgana be damned, he knew he was finally safe here. He passed out again, thankful he’d finally come home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by[ Adjustments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821596) by [werepirechick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick) (chillahead-bridge on tumblr), wherein Jim has a similar instinctual breakdown. Please check out their work, because that story is phenomenal!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara and Oz search for a delirious and frantic Walter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of PTSD and unhealthy coping mechanisms

It never ceased to amaze Barbara just how similar Jim’s and Walter’s situations were. Though neither would admit it out loud—ah, the fragile pride of men—it was just true. Both were now trapped in Troll form (half, in Jim’s case) and suffered the dysphoria that came with it. Both likely suffered from PTSD—and Barbara hated that she couldn’t help Jim with that, though she _was_ glad he had Claire and Blinky to do it for her.

And both acted like children when it came to getting help.

With Jim, she knew it was mostly his teenage brain. Every teen was like that in some form or another, and Barbara had learned to accept it. At least he actively showed he cared for her, even if he didn’t want her help when he had a problem. It meant their relationship as a parent and child was healthy, even if his coping mechanisms weren’t.

With Walter, it was more complicated. Not only was he far older than Jim—and Barbara, and literally anyone she’d ever met—but he was also not human. Troll physiology limited Barbara’s ability to aid him, but from what she’d gathered, Troll mental problems were similar to a human’s. Walter also had the annoying habit of just _burying_ everything remotely wrong. He blamed it on being a Changeling, as it was just second nature for them to never share their problems. After all, if you shared a weakness, it meant ammunition for a potential replacement, and being replaced meant the original’s _death_.

This unhealthy coping on Walter’s part, Barbara had surmised in just the summer living together with him, usually resulted in him having an anxiety attack or nightmare in his downtime—and unfortunately, he had far more free time post-war than he’d ever had before. Caring for the familiars helped, but…one could only keep their mind from wandering so long.

So, yes, Barbara had seen Walter’s attacks. She had been there for him that first time, when he was curled inside the sewer line, just beyond the basement threshold. He’d recognized her then but didn’t feel it was appropriate that she help him. When she wouldn’t leave, he did it himself, losing her in the labyrinth of sewer tunnels faster than she could say ‘come back, you old asparagus.’ The awkward apology hours later once again reminded her of Jim and how he handled stress, and she made a mental note to treat Walter similarly to her son in this regard.

It took another attack days later for him to swallow his damn Changeling pride and allow her to be nearby, and then one two weeks later until eventually he began telling her what was causing them: his life, as a whole, was now completely new. After dedicating his existence to evil, to ending the human race, to doing unspeakable things to his enemies—troll and human alike—he was now in a situation where he _regretted_ most of it. It scared him and made him question his current standing in life.

She made it her mission to be there for him, to make sure he knew he was loved and cared for. She let him know that, although he _had_ done terrible things, he was slowly making up for much of it. And that she would try to judge him on what he does now, and not what he did 500 years ago.

This new attack, however, was something foreign to her.

Walter had jolted awake in the middle of her conversation with the Pterostryx elders. When he began thrashing, all of them had rushed back to him. One of his wings shot out and smacked Oz in the face, sending him crashing into the other slab bed. Walter had struggled against his blanket and Barbara realized he didn’t recognize where he was when he began keening.

Oh, she had never before heard him keen or whine, and it broke her heart to hear it now. He probably didn’t know he was doing it, either.

She’d tried consoling him like usual, hands up and eyes desperately trying to catch his. Those eyes that were usually so calm and deep had heralded nothing but feral fear. His slit pupils were so thin they could have disappeared within the sclera. His salt-and-pepper hair, usually slicked back, had become disheveled from his travel to the Heartstone and then his struggle off the slab bed, further adding to his wild look.

When he’d taken a swipe, it had definitely surprised her. She’d yelped and backed away. She tripped up from Walter’s cowl, which was still wrapped around her body, and that had given Walter the opening to escape. Plutarch and Hadeaya had attempted to calm him as well, muttering things in Trollish (once again, an assumption on Barbara’s part), but Walter had sped like a bullet towards the entrance before they could get close.

Watching him entangle himself in the bead curtain had hurt Barbara’s heart. He’d struggled as if he didn’t _know_, as if he had swapped minds with a magpie who didn’t know what a glass door was. And then he’d flown away, deep into the petrified forest village.

“Walt,” she cried. “Walter, wait!”

A hand on her shoulder kept her from scrambling after him. She glared at the owner.

Oz, to his credit, didn’t flinch away. He gave her a sympathetic look. “He won’t get far,” he informed her. “In his state, he probably wouldn’t be able to work a Horngazel, much less figure out where the entrance is.”

“We need to follow him anyway,” she growled desperately.

“Does he often…do that?” asked Plutarch, who slowly shambled out of the Heartstone with Hadeaya.

“No…yes…it’s complicated. Walter is usually level-headed, but he’s…he sometimes…” She trailed off, not really willing to share some of Walter’s personal demons to complete strangers. Even if they _had_ prevented his death, it didn’t give her the right to burden someone else with Walt’s problems.

“He’s going through a lot,” Hadeaya finished. “We’ll leave it at that.”

“Oz,” Plutarch barked. “Take…er…Barbara and search the city. Hadeaya and I will spread the word that a Troll is in distress, suffering from…?”

“An unfortunately rare side effect of one of my potions,” Hadeaya finished. “He’s suffering from delusions and cannot, at the moment, discern safety in his surroundings.”

Barbara nodded a thank you to the elders for their understanding. Oz gently scooped her up into his arms soon after. This time, he didn’t question her choice to remove her glasses before takeoff. Hadeaya and Plutarch rocketed into the air just after Oz but passed him faster than Barbara could blink.

Soon, they were all high above the Heartstone, circling around the tops of the trees that didn’t melt into the ceiling. The elders split off to speak with the Trolls gathered up top while Oz and Barbara swooped lower.

After a minute or so, Barbara heard angry cries rise up. Various voices yelled in annoyance as Oz came near.

Trolls—mostly Pterostryx—were gathered around the bases of smaller trees, where stalls and stands were clustered. A few looked angry. A smaller blue Troll, thin and gangly with large eyes and even larger glasses, seemed to be attempting to mediate whatever argument was going on.

“Hernan,” Oz called. “What happened?”

“Ozlius, thank goodness,” the blue Troll cried. “I need a hand!”

“Who’s the idiot flying around knocking everyone’s signs off?” one of the Pterostryx demanded. “If I have to replace my sign _again_—“

“I had _just_ hung those socks up last week,” another protested. “They were supposed to harden up there for at least three months! Now I’m going to be late with my shipment!”

“My lights!” Yet another Pterostryx snarled in annoyance. She stamped her clawed feet. “I had them strung up just right and now _look at them_! ON THE GROUND FOR GNOMES TO GET THEIR GRUBBY CLAWS ON!”

“See what I mean?” The blue Troll waved his arms. “It’s chaos!”

Oz roared, effectively silencing the growing crowd. Barbara tried not to shrink. “The Troll flying around is having a bad reaction to one of Hadeaya’s potions! He’s weak, he’s scared, and he needs help! So before you all start forming a mob, fan out and find him!”

“Who is he?” someone asked.

“A…” Oz paused, then shook his head. “A new face. Now, please, help us find him!”

The crowd dispersed, some taking to the sky while others ran around on the ground. Some gnomes even sensed the urgency and skittered away in their own search parties. The only Troll that didn’t move was the blue one. He tugged his bull-shaped horns in distress, dancing in place.

“Oz, what is going on?” he demanded. “That Troll was a Pterostryx. I saw him! There aren’t very many outside of—oh, why hello.”

Barbara blinked when she realized he had greeted her. She nodded back. “I’m Barbara, a friend of…well…”

The Troll tilted his head. “A human friend? Not uncommon around here, but practically unheard of for an outsider! Oz, just who is this new ‘stryx? Oh, I’m Hernan, by the way. Very nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled despite the panic rising in her chest. Hernan seemed very scatterbrained, much like _another_ blue Troll she knew. He also seemed very civil—a trait shared by most of the Trolls she’d personally met in Olympia, apparently.

“His name is Walter,” she supplied. “Walter Strickler.”

Hernan suddenly went very grey, as if he had turned to stone right in front of her. “St…Stricklander?” he finally stammered. “He’s _here_?”

Before Barbara could ask how this random Troll knew Walter—especially his Troll name before she’d even said it—Hernan began to pace in a tight circle. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he muttered. “This is not good! Yaga won’t like this…”

“Hernan, focus,” Oz snapped. “We need to find him!”

The blue Troll nodded quickly. “Fine, yes, yes! I’ll help in the search! If he’s on the ground, I’m sure I’ll find him…oh, that won’t be fun. No, no it won’t…”

He scuttled off, still muttering to himself.

Oz shook his head. “Don’t mind Hernan. He can be a bit eccentric and odd, but he’s a good Troll.”

“He knew Walter,” she muttered. “How did he know Walter?”

They began trotting around the main road and alleys. Every once in a while Oz would correct their course, nose in the air. Barbara was thankful Trolls had better senses than humans, though she wondered exactly how much their nose worked like a dog’s.

Soon, Oz froze. He sniffed multiple times, twisting his head in different directions. Then, he shot into an alley, Barbara close behind on her sore foot.

Oz sniffed a dark corner. “He was here,” he announced. “He stopped here.”

“How can you tell?”

“His scent pools here.” He pointed at the corner. “Which means he spent less than two seconds here. But where—?”

His nose twitched again. He glanced around, then took Barbara’s hand and ran in another direction. They squeezed through the alley’s clutter and came out near one of the larger dead trees. Barbara noticed puncture holes in the tree’s bark. Almost as if someone had climbed it…

Oz’s wings shot out and he screeched, startling Barbara. She barely had enough time to take her glasses off again before he grabbed her and rocketed into the air. She held on for dear life as they ascended, following the puncture holes all the way to a balcony just below the ceiling.

Despite the rough and sudden takeoff, Oz at least had the sense to make the landing gentle. He softly landed and delicately let Barbara out of his arms. Then he rushed inside with a screech in Trollish.

Barbara followed and nearly ran into Oz’s back. She yelped, “Oz, what’s wrong?”

Then she looked past him and froze.

An elderly, peridot-colored Troll was sitting on the ground, her long, white hair pooled around her. Walter, head on her lap, was once again unconscious. He looked unharmed, almost peaceful. The elderly Troll stroked his hair and traced his horns lovingly.

She looked up at the two new occupants in the room. Barbara bit back a gasp at the horrific scars that littered one side of her face. Her left eye was completely blind. One of her great horns was completely broken off near the base. The other was shaped like Walter’s but was longer and curled forward at the end.

She smiled. Her face, as marred as it was, practically glowed with joy. “Oz,” she croaked in a voice that sounded like she gargled pebbles every morning. “Look who came home!”

The look in her good eye as she went back to gazing at Walter…it was the same look Barbara knew she gave Jim.

Barbara realized with a jolt that this was no random Troll.

This was Walter’s mother!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler wakes up and deals with the aftermath of his delirious actions. And gets treated like a child in the process.

Strickler regained consciousness slowly and in pieces. Sometimes he swore he heard voices—Barbara, yes, he knew her voice was there. But the others he heard were not familiar to him. Once he felt like he was being carried, but he faded out almost as quickly as he’d registered the sensation. Lights danced behind his eyelids when he woke again, and he had the inkling a migraine would be in store if he witnessed those lights, so he kept his eyes shut. Soon after, he faded again.

Finally, after several failed attempts at consciousness, he began to actually wake up. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a nest of _soft things_. He could smell Barbara, mud, rain, and…something else. Someone else. He focused on Barbara’s scent, nuzzling his large nose into the softness. Another scent registered—the car. Had he been returned to the car nest? Were they on the road back to Arcadia already?

Tentatively, he opened his eyes. Pillows and blankets from the car surrounded him, yes, but there were other fabrics piled in that definitely hadn’t been part of the nest. Blankets and sheets did not form a canopy over him, either. He squinted in the dim light, realizing after a moment of blurry focus that he was actually just really close to a rock wall. A cave wall, to be more precise.

He shifted in the nest and a blanket slid off his skinny shoulders. His wings folded against his back awkwardly as he rolled over. The ceiling was the same as the wall: dark cave rock. On the other side of the nest was a blackout curtain, shabby and torn at the bottom edge, held up by a rusty pipe. Soft lights flickered beyond the curtain, only seen from the top and bottom where the fabric did not block.

Voices hissed softly beyond. They were hushed, possibly to avoid waking him. He appreciated the gesture.

Strickler cleared his throat, ready for whatever awaited him on the other side. The voices stopped. There was a rustle and suddenly the curtain opened slightly, just enough for someone to peek their head in.

Barbara smiled at him. “Walter,” she sighed happily. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

He straightened, wincing as his spine creaked. “Like I’ve just run a marathon.”

She chuckled. “Well…you’re not _wrong_. How’s your head?”

He reached up with one hand to inspect his head. Oh, ouch. Yes, that was definitely a welt the size of Ireland. He grunted at how sore it was. “Who hit me?” he grumbled.

“To be fair,” she clarified. “_You_ hit stuff. Signs, socks, lights…I think someone said they saw you fly straight through a branch.”

“I…_what_?” He blinked.

Barbara gave him a piteous smile. “Walt, honey, you…you had a pretty bad attack earlier. You flew out of the Heartstone and panicked so much you flew _here_.”

He sat back against the wall. Shame pooled in his stomach. He’d broken down _in public_? He hadn’t done that since the Darklands, and that had nearly cost him his life! He rubbed his hands against his face, groaning. How utterly embarrassing…He was an adult, far older than what would appropriately warrant such behavior.

“Walter,” Barbara chided. “Stop sulking. No one is going to use you flying around as leverage. What would they even need leverage for?”

He grumbled, “It’s the principle of the matter…”

A hand on his knee made him peek between his fingers. Barbara, who had moved fully into the nest, pursed her lips, clearly not taking ‘my pride has been wounded’ as a viable excuse to wallow forever in the dark. He had the sneaking suspicion this was her Mom Mode…

He sighed. Perhaps he _was_ being a bit childish. A breakdown wasn’t anything to be ashamed about, as Barbara would say. And other people—other _Trolls_—knowing he had a slip in his mental state was also nothing to feel shame over.

Finally, he removed his hands from his face and placed one on top of hers. “Did I…did I do anything besides fly around like a madman?”

“Well…” She smiled again, but it was nervous. “You…You kinda ran…” She mumbled the last bit.

“Pardon?”

Suddenly another head popped out from behind the curtain. It was a—goodness, it was like looking in a mirror! Strickler blinked at what seemed to be a younger, darker version of himself. The young reflection grinned.

“You ran straight home to Mommy,” he said.

Strickler blinked. Then, he narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?” he growled.

“Easy, Walt. He’s a friend.” Barbara faced the other Troll. “Oz, could you…?”

The younger Troll—Oz? What kind of name was _Oz_ for a Troll, Strickler thought—retreated without protest.

“Who was that?”

“Oz,” Barbara answered. “He’s the one that found us out by the college.”

Hazy memories popped up in his mind. He closed his eyes. “I…I’m sorry…I don’t exactly remember much past you telling me you were going a steady 90 down the interstate.”

Barbara huffed, clearly amused. “But not after we got to Olympia? Not even after the Heartstone healed you?”

He’d thought that had been a dream. Flashes of a green room, Barbara stroking his face, an older Troll pulling her away…

His gaze traveled down to one of Barbara’s feet. The ankle was wrapped in natural bandages and smelled of herbs. “Did I…?”

She glanced down and waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, no! I slipped in the mud trying to haul your stone butt through the woods. Walter, you’re probably the heaviest twig I’ve ever seen!”

He snorted.

She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Oz was right, though,” she finally said. “You did actually run to your—ahem—mom.”

Her tone was light, as if she found that funny. Walter, meanwhile, was absolutely horrified. He had no memory of her, so how had he found her? Was it coincidence? Instinct? How had she reacted, finding her 1000-year-old son was a Changeling? _Did_ she know?

Barbara seemed to sense his hesitance. She kissed his cheek. “Walt, honey, it’s okay. She was so happy to see you. And she’d love to get to know you.”

“Barbara,” he protested. “I’m not Oliver Twist reuniting with a lost relative. I’m…”

She shushed him. “You’re going to go out there and at least say hello.”

Strickler bit back the urge to whine like a damn whelp. Eventually, he swallowed his pride—or some bile, he wasn’t exactly sure which—and shifted to exit the nest. Barbara left first, holding the curtain open for him. He rubbed his eyes as he adjusted to the lit area.

The place wasn’t much to look at, just a normal cave home. His nest was settled in the darkest corner, furthest from the entrance. Near him were tables and shelves littered with human junk that ranged from ancient armor pieces to modern tv remotes. Holes carved into the walls were filled with glowing gems of all colors, though a neutral yellow was the predominant one. Stone and human furniture filled out the rest of the room, such as an old recliner, a stone chair, and several wardrobes—also of various years of origin. One other alcove could be seen from Strickler’s position, and there was a room just above it; both had blackout curtains, though the one on top had red curtains and the bottom had black.

Interestingly, Strickler noticed his nest was about a foot lower than the rest of the home. He nearly tripped on the step up as he stood. Barbara steadied him, guiding his head away from the curtain rod so his horns didn’t knock against it.

Strickler held his breath as he spotted the two Trolls sitting calmly on the seats in the center of the cave. On the old recliner was Oz, and on the stone chair…was _her_.

She was a vibrant green color, like an uncut peridot, and though she was clearly old—ancient, even to Strickler—she had a beauty that went unmatched. Even the marks on her face couldn’t hide it. His heart skipped a beat when he registered that they were, indeed, scars and not age lines. She only had one full horn, too; the other was broken near the base. In the back of his mind he thought of how he hadn’t been there for her when she’d been hurt, how he didn’t know what had done that to her…

She smiled at him, a smile not dissimilar to the way Barbara smiled around Jim or the ex-familiars. His heart tugged at the sight.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward. “Er,” he said brilliantly. “Hello…”

She stood up. Oz held out a hand as if to steady her but she smacked him away. She shuffled forward on her long, old legs—bone-thin, just like his own, but it was from age and not mutation. Her long, white hair framed her angular face perfectly. She was actually taller than him, now that she was up close to him! It was only a head or so difference, but still…enough to be noticeable.

She reached out with her bony hands and cupped his face lovingly.

“Let me get a good look at you,” she finally said. Her voice was scratchy and gravelly, just like his, but it was also soft. Just as a mother’s should be.

She tilted his head from side to side. He allowed it, nervous that she wouldn’t like what she saw. He kept his eyelids low, fearing she would shove him away the moment she saw his Changeling eyes.

She hummed thoughtfully as she inspected him. She moved away from his face and started running her fingers down his neck and his shoulders, tracing his long markings…It sent a shiver down his spine.

She abruptly stood straight and cupped his face again. He realized with a jolt that she now had caught him by surprise and seen his now-widened eyes.

“One thousand years,” she muttered. “And you never grew out of that little tuft.”

One of her fingers playfully tugged at the bit of his hair on top of his brow—the bit that never slicked back, no matter how hard he tried. The statement caught him off guard, causing him to huff out a laugh.

“And your smile is still as cute as ever,” she proclaimed. “You got your father’s fangs.”

Barbara giggled nearby. A cursory glance told Strickler she had ended up next to Oz. Both were watching the scene like a personal live studio audience.

The attention made Strickler inhale sharply and straighten his spine. A surge of childish rage rushed through him. “I…I can’t stand this,” he finally snapped. “I’m not…I’m not the whelp you remember! I’m not even the _Troll_ you remember!”

Her eyes softened. “Darling…”

“No,” he growled. “How can you stand here and…and act like I’m not _different_?” He flared his wings. “_Look at me!_ I’m a Changeling! An _Impure_! Every Troll despises my kind—_my_ kind, because I’m not a Troll anymore. Everyone hates us, and I know you do, too! So, stop acting so sweet and just get this over with already! Shun me, curse me, do what you need to do…and I’ll get out.”

His outburst had caused her to step back briefly. Oz and Barbara blinked in confusion.

Finally, the female Troll snapped her jaws with a _click_. A hand shot forward and tugged Strickler’s ear. Hard. He yelped as she pulled him up to meet her eyes—eye. She only had one good eye. The other was milky and blind. The good eye burned with such intensity that Strickler automatically gulped.

“One thousand years and you still act like the same whelp,” she snapped. “Do you take me for a brute? A _savage_?” Her own wings flared, larger than any he’d ever seen, even on a Stalkling. And they exuded much more power than he would assume of the elder Troll. “What mother in her right _mind_ would refuse to acknowledge her own child if he had been changed against his will? What mother would abandon her baby the moment he came running to her in a delirious state?”

She shifted her hold on him from his ear to his scruff. Though he’d styled his hair to resemble a human’s, it was really just to hide the fact that he _had_ a scruff. If any other Changeling had seen it for what it was, they would have grabbed it in training to show dominance. He growled instinctively at the gesture, but she shook him like a kitten. It was pitiful how easily the elder Troll could do this, he thought.

“Do not take such tones with me,” she growled. “I may not have had the joy of raising you, but I still hold the right to punish you for being so rude! Honestly, Barbara had _just_ told me how kind you are, how well-off and good-mannered you could be.”

Strickler grumbled wordlessly. He heard someone—probably Oz—holding in a snort.

“I would _never_ kick you out for being a Changeling,” the elder finally said, her voice softening. “I’ve waited a thousand years to see my child—to see _you_ again, no matter how much Morgana twisted you.”

She let go of his scruff but kept a hand on the back of his neck. She guided his head around until they knocked horns. The loving gesture was enough to make Strickler relax his stance.

“I don’t care how much that witch changed you,” she muttered. “She could have made you _fully_ human for all I care. You are my son, and I love you.”

She hugged him. The embrace was warm and gentle. It rekindled a faded memory of being cradled by someone so, so long ago. He returned the hug, taking in her scent. His fears of abandonment washed away as she wrapped her wings around him. It felt so familiar, like she’d been doing it his whole life. Like he truly belonged there.

“Whatever those thugs told you,” she whispered in his ear. “Whatever they did to make you believe we wouldn’t love you, it’s not true.”

“I’m still…not the Troll you want me to be,” he protested. “I’ve done terrible things in my life. Things only now I’m starting to regret…I’m not innocent and never will be again.”

“I know this. And I know you are trying to be better now. And that’s all I need to know my love is not misplaced.” A purr rumbled through her and into him. “We’ll get through this, my son. As awkward as it may be for an old Changeling and an even older Troll to reconnect their mother-son bond…I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.”

Perhaps it was the jab at both their ages—the attempt at a joke—that had done it. Maybe it was just that she was willing to _try_ with him. Whatever the reason, it set his emotions off.

He laughed. He laughed so hard he cried. Strickler hugged the older Troll—his _mother_—tighter, sobbing and laughing so loudly it practically echoed. For the first time in his life, even counting his experiences with Barbara, he let his emotions loose. He let the mask down willingly.

He let everyone see his tears.

After a few minutes, he wound down. As his sobs turned into sniffles, he felt another pair of arms embrace him. He looked down and smiled.

Barbara had him caught in her own hug. She reached up on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. “You’re going to be fine, Walt.”

“I know that…now.” He nuzzled her, touching his forehead with hers and purring.

Suddenly a _third_ pair of arms reached around them. Joining the group hug was a very emotional Oz. Strickler growled in warning.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Oz chirped. “If you’re gonna rejoin the family, you’re gonna have to get used to me!”

Strickler grimaced. This was a very young male, clearly not his father. Which meant…

Oz knocked horns with him. “Welcome home, Brother!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh did I not mention Oz is Walter's brother? Because he is >:3c  
Don't worry, you'll get Mavocado's name next chapter. I couldn't get it in here without it being awkwardly placed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief group chat interlude

_Group Chat_

**Me:** Hey, all! Made it to Olympia! Walt’s ok

**Claire: **Wow that’s great!

**Toby:** Way to go! AAARRRGGHH!!! and I knew u could do it!

**Jim:** The Olympia Trolls aren’t giving u trouble, are they? Do I need to find a Gyre station and defend Strickler?

**Me:** No no, they’re fine.

**Me: **Tell Blinky we found out which Tribe migrated over here

**Me: **and that they are Changeling-friendly

**Jim:** ???

**Toby:** U sure, Dr. L?

**Me: **Preeeeetty sure~

**1 image attached – Avocado Family Portrait.jpg**

**Toby: **WOW

**Claire:** Awww

**Jim:** Holy shish kebab

**Jim:** Blinky is yelling

**Jim:** like literally he is screaming

**Claire: **it’s happy yelling

**Toby:** OMG I never thought about Mr. S being avocado-colored!

**Toby:** that’s so great! Jim u could call him Avocado Dad

**Jim: **no thx

**Claire:** Blinky wants to know if the Pterostryx Tribe is really in Olympia

**Me: **Yup

**Me:** Apparently Walter’s the reason they’re welcoming to Changelings

**Me:** They were waiting for him to come home

**Claire:** That’s really cute

**Claire: **How’s Mr. Strickler taking all this?

**Me: **Um…

**Me: **He hasn’t killed his younger brother yet

**Me:** it’s only been a day, though lol

**Jim: **I would like to swap notes with this brother

**Jim:** …

**Jim:** tell his bro Strickler’s real name

**Jim:** Waltolomew

**Jim:** He’ll know what to do

**Toby:** I support this

**Me:** Jim…

**Jim: **Nomura says his nickname is Mew-Mew

**Jim:** I can’t actually confirm the truth of that

**Toby:** Dr. L please tell everybody to call him that

**Toby:** Do they have phones? I’ll tell them myself!

**Claire:** I’m not condoning this

**Me:** *sigh*

**Me: **Anyway, I have to go soon

**Me: **Jim, don’t ignore your dietary needs

**Me: **And if you start Draining, take the nearest Gyre over here!

**Me:** The Pterostryx are more than happy to help

**Jim: **Mom…

**Claire:** Blinky said Jim should be fine since he hasn’t spent centuries without a Heartstone

**Claire: **But everyone is keeping an eye on him!

**Jim: **Yeah it’s not fun

**Claire: **Tough

**Toby:** Btw the babies are doing great!

**Toby:** but one doesn’t like going in the cradlestone…

**Toby: **even Notenrique couldn’t put him back

**Me: **I have a feeling that’s Wally

**Me: **He likes to be put to bed by Walter

**Me: **(I think he’s Walter’s familiar, but he won’t tell me)

**Jim: **Maybe try that magic mask?

**Toby: **OMG

**Toby: **Genius

**Toby: **Also possibly gonna be the greatest Halloween costume this year!

**Me:** Just don’t do anything rash with Walter’s face

**Me: **Okay, kids, I gotta go

**Toby: **Bye Dr. L~!

**Claire: **Good luck with Strickler’s family!

**Jim: **I’ll send u a selfie soon

**Jim: **Love u, Mom

**Me: **Love u too, Jim

**Me: **XOXO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully I might be able to draw the Avocado Family Portrait so y'all can see it. For now, you can just imagine the pic Barbara managed to take  
Mew-Mew nickname credit to Tunafishprincess, because that is a fantastic terrible nickname


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz tells Barbara the recent history of their community under Evergreen.

“Thanks again for letting me contact my son, Oz.”

The Troll grinned. “My pleasure.”

The two were currently walking down the entrance tunnel, Barbara on some old crutches Oz had pilfered from a trash barge. Thankfully, he’d agreed to sanitize them before handing them over.

Barbara was surprised that the Pterostryx were so accommodating to humans. She’d heard the horror stories from Jim, Toby, and even Walter; how Trolls did not have the same hygiene standards as humans, how different their appetites could be, and how normal human behavior was considered Acting Weak amongst Trollkind. Even living near AAARRRGGHH!!! for one summer had made Barbara see just how different their cultures could be. She was thankful Walter could live more like a human, if only so it wasn’t such a culture shock to her.

Yet the Pterostryx Tribe seemed to upend nearly all the stereotypically Trollish behavior. Oz and the elders had been completely civil from the moment they met her—and for Oz, it was _before_ she’d mentioned she was the Trollhunter’s mother. Even Walter’s mother—Eldegleam, she’d said her name was—had been kind and displayed no monstrous behavior.

Their community, Barbara noticed as they traveled further into the town, was also different from Trollmarket. Though many locations were similar—shops, pubs, etc—there were also various _human_ accommodations present, such as a library, a bathhouse, and—oddly—a donut stall. All of those had signs in English as well as Trollish above them. Even the more Trollish locales had framed pictures of Trolls and humans.

“Oz,” she began tentatively. “Forgive me for asking, but why do you guys have human accommodations?”

He chuckled. “Living under a college kinda makes a town change. We sometimes have human visitors down here, so we like to make them feel a _little_ comfortable.”

“But why?” she asked. “I thought Trolls didn’t reveal themselves to humans.”

“Well, here’s a little history lesson for you,” he said, puffing out his chest a little. “We migrated here from Europe _really late_ compared to other New World tribes. Like, _settled here in the 50s_ late. We were doing pretty well on our own, journeying to the surface for trash and fish and whatever, but about the mid-60s is when things became complicated...”

They stopped at the donut stand. A wide Pterostryx the color of old moss grinned at them and handed Barbara a perfect glaze. Then, he handed Oz some plastic trash molded into the shape of a donut.

“A couple of those Peace and Love humans found us, but they decided not to rat us out.” Oz nibbled on his plastic donut as they walked. “We learned about humans a little more, they learned about us. Eventually, we had the idea to put up a college. Being the 60s, it was one of those ‘experimental’ colleges, but it’s managed to stay true to its initial idea. The first dean—a guy named McCann—knew about us and offered amnesty to the Pterostryx Tribe on Evergreen grounds. Deans succeeding him always get introduced to us and have to swear secrecy. Most of the staff is also sworn in after a year or two teaching there. Some senior students even come down here if the faculty recommends them. They’re usually writing or art majors, very creative and less likely to want to _dissect_ us.”

Barbara licked her fingers. The donut had been absolutely _delicious_. She was tempted to go back and ask the Troll for the recipe so Jim could make some for Claire. “So, you were discovered by humans…and instead of killing them or threatening them, you decided to populate the area with _more_?”

Oz laughed. “A bit backwards when you say it like that. But our Tribe has always been more open to ideas. Back in the Old World, we lived near a small human village and chatted with _them_, too. We tend to trust the humans we live with. Our ‘radical ideas’ make other Trolls uncomfortable, so they tend to leave us alone. We aren’t part of the Tribunal, we don’t get a say in what Trollkind as a whole does, and we don’t automatically participate in wars and battles.”

“And you’re somehow still largely undiscovered in this modern, smart phone era,” Barbara added.

“I mean, we still get the cryptozoologists roaming around. They come for Bigfoot and find Mothman.” They both laughed at the statement. “Blurry photos and videos happen, but the upside to our sun aversion means no natural light to reveal us. And the weather up here is the perfect natural cover on its own.”

“But what about the humans that come down here?” she asked. “They have phones and cameras.”

“Except for you, we actually request all phones and cameras be left outside. We enforce the secrecy. All cameras down here are property of the Pterostryx and shall not be removed from Pineroost.” He swallowed the rest of his plastic donut with a burp.

Barbara blinked. “Pineroost? That’s the name of this place?”

“Pretty on-the-nose, isn’t it? Trolls just stick to simple names, and that’s a fact across _all_ Troll species. I mean, c’mon: Trollmarket? A six-eyed Troll named _Blinky_? Not to mention the literal translation of Gumm-Gumm!”

They laughed again.

“I like the name, though,” she finally said. “It’s very fitting.”

Suddenly, Barbara noticed a blob of blue up the path. She adjusted her glasses and realized it was the eccentric Troll, Hernan. She waved and called out, “Hernan! Hey!”

The Troll blinked, his eyes enlarged by his big glasses. Then, he smiled, his lower fangs glinting. “Hello, Miss Lake! You look it better spirits!”

They all converged in the middle of the street. Gnomes skittered around. “Thank you,” she said. “We found Walter, but thank you for helping in the search for him. I really appreciated it.”

Hernan’s smile faded. “O-Oh…Is he…Is he with you?” He glanced around nervously. “Following you, perchance?”

“No, why?”

The blue Troll sighed in relief. “Well, it would be a smidge awkward for him to find me here…I sort of faked my death—and let me tell you, it is _very hard_ to fool Stricklander! He knows every Changeling tactic in the book and it was _Hell_ trying to pull the wool over his eyes!”

Barbara gasped. She hadn’t noticed before when they’d first met, but Hernan’s eyes weren’t like other Trolls’. Other Trolls, like Oz or Blinky or AAARRRGGHH!!! had more human-like eyes, albeit slightly more colorful. Hernan’s, however, were not human-like at all… They were cat-like, black slit pupils floating in sky blue sclera.

Hernan was a _Changeling_!

At her gasp, Hernan’s ears flattened against his skull. He looked absolutely ashamed. “Oh, have I upset you? If Stricklander is your friend, I can just disappear and we can pretend we never met!”

“Oh, no!” Barbara held out her hand. “It took me way too long to realize you were even a _Changeling_, Hernan. I was surprised, that’s all. And I think Walter is going to be so _happy_ if he sees you!”

“He will?” Hernan and Oz asked in unison.

They stared at her with wide eyes, as if she’d become an alien. They showed genuine surprise that Walter would be happy to see another Changeling—even one who’d faked his death.

Then it dawned on her why.

“You…You don’t know…” Barbara held a hand to her mouth. “You don’t know what happened in Arcadia, do you?”

They shook their heads. “News doesn’t get to us very quickly,” Oz explained. “Like I said, we’re a bit cut off from the rest of Trollkind, so a few traveling merchants are our news sources.”

“We’ve heard whispers of Gunmar’s defeat,” Hernan said. “At the hands of the human Trollhunter, to boot! But that’s about it. We have yet to have a first-hand account reach us, and no one is willing to leave Pineroost to see what happened.”

Barbara grimaced. “Well…yes, that happened. And Jim did beat Gunmar. But…the Changelings…”

Hernan bowed his head. “Banished? Executed by the Trollhunter?”

“Gunmar killed them.”

Oz’s eyes widened. Hernan squeezed his own eyes shut.

“All of them?” the Changeling asked, his voice soft.

“Walter and two other Changelings weren’t present,” she explained. “But all the others were lured into their deaths. At least, that’s my understanding of what happened…”

All three of them bowed their heads. A moment of silence passed between them.

Then, Hernan raised his head and adjusted his glasses. “Ahem. Well, it would seem perhaps hiding from Stricklander would not be in my best interests. Yaga and I should maybe get in touch with him.”

Oz smiled. “I know, you could all meet up at the _Odious Oyster_! You could make it a double date, Hernan!”

“Yaga and I aren’t a pair,” Hernan protested weakly.

“Semantics.” Oz wrapped an arm around Hernan. “I’ll convince Terracotta to put all that you guys eat and drink on my tab. You and my brother can catch up with Barbara, here, making sure he doesn’t do anything nasty to you.”

Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose, half-amused. “I can’t actually _control_ Walter. He’s not on a leash.”

Oz’s eyes twinkled playfully. A knowing smile crossed his features. “My dear, you have _far more power_ over him than you think.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local Stinky Bastard Avocado FINALLY gets a bath

While Oz took Barbara to the surface to update Jim, Eldegleam had chosen to take Strickler to a hotspot in the town.

“I love you, son, but you stink,” his mother had said. “And not in an appealing way.”

He’d taken a cautionary sniff and barely kept down a gag. He _did_ stink. And, now that his attention was drawn to it, his hair was greasy and unkempt, his skin was dry and cracked, and his feet were so caked in mud that they looked like he wore _black toe socks._ He could only imagine what his face looked like, though from just glancing at his emaciated body, he had a pretty good idea…

So, they had walked slowly—for her benefit, due to age, and his because of still-sore bones—through Pineroost, eventually ending up at the base of a particularly thick petrified tree. It sat against the cavern wall, like a vine stretching upward. Steam rose from the entrance and several vent pipes built into the trunk. Neon signs in Trollish _and_ English decorated the warped roots, loudly announcing this was a bathhouse.

Oh, that actually sounded _heavenly_. Strickler hadn’t had a proper bath in a long while. Barbara’s tub wasn’t exactly built with Trolls in mind, so he couldn’t soak his stone skin very well.

“You’ve no idea what this means to me,” he told Eldegleam. “To see a society of Trolls that actually _want_ to bathe!”

She laughed. It was a chirpy sound that made Strickler’s heart flutter. “Come on, darling. You look like you _desperately_ need a bath.”

She led Strickler inside. He ducked past the entrance curtain—some sort of memory wiggled its way forward, something about beads? He exhaled, burying the strange feeling.

Immediately inside was a small lounge, complete with old couches, a towel rack (“**Please do not eat**”) and a crusty trash bin (“**Please do eat**”). A single door on the other end of the room was blocked partially by the reception desk, manned by an elderly Pterostryx with tiny spectacles.

“Eldegleam,” the Troll greeted. He grinned, showing off many missing and false teeth. “Haven’t seen you in a while! I was beginning to think you were rotting in your tree.”

“Mossoff, you old vulture,” she growled playfully. “As if I would stop coming to your bathhouse!”

Mossoff adjusted his tiny glasses, squinting. “Is that Ozzy? My, my, young’un, how ever did you get so dirty? You look positively _pallid_.”

“This is—”

“Stricklander,” he said automatically.

Eldegleam glanced at him curiously but didn’t say argue. “He’s in desperate need of the works, dear.”

“Right, then! An algae and salt scrub, complete with pressure wash, gnome groom, and horn polish, and finish it with a communal soak. For two?”

“Of course. And make the soak twice as long,” she added. “My old bones need the heat and so do his.”

Strickler couldn’t argue that, though he was dubious at the sound of the procedure. Algae? Pressure wash? He didn’t exactly know the differences between Troll and human spas, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

Mossoff snapped two fingers together and a female Troll padded out from behind him. She led Eldegleam through the doorway first, then Mossoff invited Strickler forward.

The elder sniffed, then gagged. “Dear boy, you smell worse than death itself! I know we Trolls enjoy the dirtier pleasures of life, but by Maddrux’s ears you certainly take that too far.”

Strickler sniffed disdainfully. “I get it. Just…let’s do this, shall we?”

* * *

The entire ordeal had been _divine_, though at certain points Strickler had warring emotions about it.

After a quick removal of his loincloth (“Filthy thing,” Mossoff grumbled) Strickler was led into a room with a powerful small waterfall. Strickler was shoved under the spray and instructed to place his hands and feet in special grippers. The water pressure was horrifically high and the temperature was almost unbearably cold, and Strickler nearly breathed in on instinct when he went under the full blast. Thankfully, he didn’t drown himself.

“Use your mouth to breathe,” someone shouted over the din. “Your nose will give it enough cover.”

He obeyed instantly, thankful he didn’t have to actually hold his breath.

Because of the spray, he had to keep his eyes shut. This meant he was caught by surprise when small bristles hit his stone skin. He flinched away on instinct.

“Stop moving, you baby,” came the inevitable shout.

Strickler pushed down the urge to snap a retort. The bristles—brushes, he knew this now—swept over his whole body, diving into the crevices of his tattoos, squeezing between digits, and reaching behind his ears. He could taste the smell of algae as he breathed. The salt was present, too, but he was too distracted by how it carved into him to worry about the smell. It tingled, but in a good way. He felt his body relax.

The brushes moved to his face and he held his breath. These brushes weren’t as harsh, but they were just as soothing. The filth and drool on his face was scrubbed away, as was most of the stress of the past year.

“Step out.”

He did as instructed, opening his eyes and shivering. Mossoff led him further away from the fall, following the small river it became into a small room with a little pool. Strickler entered the pool—still cold, but not as frigid as the fall—and sat on a natural bench under the water. Mossoff guided his head to lean back a bit, then placed a warm towelette over his eyes. His wings spread out behind him, flopping into the water and onto the bench on either side of his body.

After a few moments, the Troll’s hands were replaced with many tiny ones. Gnome hands. Strickler growled, swatting at them and moving to take off his makeshift blindfold.

“Stop that,” Mossoff admonished. “These gnomes are here to groom you.”

Strickler forced himself to relax. The gnomes continued their invasion, threading their tiny fingers into his hair and small scruff. Whatever they found—and, really, what was there to find? —they ate, like the birds on the backs of rhinos. A pressure on one horn revealed that one or two of them were rubbing polish on it. Then they wiped a rag over it, back and forth and back and forth. When they were satisfied with their job, they moved on to the other horn.

As the gnomes worked on his horns and hair, a couple forced him to lift his hands out of the pool. They gnawed on his nails, sharpening and cleaning them simultaneously. Once done with the hands, they did the same to his feet. Thankfully, there was no polishing involved.

“Up, up,” Mossoff barked. The gnomes scattered. Unfortunately, they took the warm towelette with them.

Strickler sighed and rose out of the water. He wrapped his wings around his body as the cold air hit him.

“Great Maddrux, you are such a sensitive thing,” Mossoff grunted. “Worse than a whelp after its first bath. Well, don’t you worry, now comes the soak. And, at Eldegleam’s request, you get to spend twice as long in there!”

Strickler tried not to bristle at the comparison with a youngling. He followed the elder Troll into a large room. The river from earlier converged into a massive pool with another river from a separate room. A huge waterfall cascaded down on one side of the pool, but the sound seemed muted, and he suspected magic was involved. Steam rose from the pool.

Eldegleam was already there, her own wings wrapped around her body for decency. Strickler kept his wings loose around his chest.

He slowly made his way into the pool, making sure to stay on her good eye’s side. The heat was startling but welcoming. He sighed in relief, warmth seeping into his tired bones. It was a blessing…

“So,” Eldegleam began after giving him a few minutes. “Stricklander, huh?”

It occurred to him that he’d never actually given his own mother his name. “Oh…I apologize. Stricklander is…it’s my…” He cleared his throat. “It’s my full surname.”

“And when do I get to hear your full _given_ name?” she asked jokingly.

“Well, my human familiar’s name was Waltolomew Stricklander,” he explained. “In recent years I’ve shortened it to Walter Strickler, though I tend to keep Stricklander as a…’Troll name.’”

“So many names,” she remarked. “Which one do I have the honor of using?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

She stayed silent for a bit. Strickler kept his gaze on the waterfall, trying to stay casual.

Finally, she spoke again: “I like what Barbara called you. Walter.”

“It’s not too human-sounding?”

“Darling, your brother prefers to be called Oz, like the human wizard. I know a Troll by the name of Karen. Not to mention we welcome humans into our midst all the time. I like Walter much better than that mouthful you call a surname.”

He looked at her, then. Her face was lit up with happiness. He smiled back. “Then I am perfectly fine with Walter.”

They spoke casually after that. She explained Pineroost’s strange relationship with humans, Trollkind’s reluctance to include the Pterostryx Tribe in anything major, and their acceptance of Changelings.

“You have _two_ here?” he eventually blurted. “That’s including me, I assume?”

“No. We have two permanent residents,” Eldegleam explained. “They go by Hernan and Yaga.”

He knew one of those names. He remembered Hernan—a cowardly Changeling, useful for bookkeeping more than snooping. Strickler recalled Hernan had been assigned somewhere in the Northern US, but honestly couldn’t remember exactly where. He assumed it must have been the Seattle branch, considering the proximity. Last he’d heard the branch had gone through a nasty fire; human protests had caused a rather terrible fire, casualties couldn’t be avoided, and they’d lost a valuable secretary.

Yaga was not a name he was familiar with, though. Either they were a rogue Changeling, escaped from the Darklands (doubtful) or they had somehow been around _before_ Strickler’s time (more believable). Or it was a new name entirely. A new identity. Yes, that would have been the smartest move.

“Interesting,” he finally said. “I suppose I’ll have to get in touch with them.”

It was a relief to Strickler that two other Changelings were still roaming around, though he knew introductions would be rather…awkward. Obviously, he’d have to earn their trust and convince them he wasn’t going to kill them for treason.

After a few minutes of relaxing, Eldegleam spoke again. “Barbara is a lovely woman.”

It was a sudden topic change, but Strickler welcomed it. “She certainly is.”

“Very capable. And strong.”

“Of course.”

“Oz told me she threatened to use Rule #3 on him if he didn’t let her near you.” She laughed. “What a wonderful woman!”

Strickler chuckled. “The Trollhunter had to get his strength and gusto from _somewhere_. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the amulet had chosen her instead!”

“So is the Trollhunter truly a human, then?”

A strange question, he thought. “Well, he used to be. The Eternal Night and its preceding events had forced Jim to take drastic measures…drastic enough to change him into a half Troll form.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Would that not make him a Changeling?”

“It is a valid point, but incorrect. Changelings are Trolls who were mutated into a suitable vessel with which to connect with a human child. The end result means that while the child is safe in the Darklands, the Changeling has the ability to switch back and forth. Jim is a human-turned-Troll. He has no familiar, and therefore no ability to switch.”

“Wouldn’t the child of a Changeling inherit some sort of _ability_, though?”

“I suppose, but we Changelings are—” He froze. Was his mother _insinuating _that…that he was Jim’s…?

“O-Oh, no, no,” he stammered. “Jim isn’t my _child_! He was born 100% human! Barbara and I only recently began seeing each other!”

She held her hands up in surrender. A smile crossed her marred face. “It’s okay, sweetie. Honest mistake.”

“I’m sorry…I tend to…to get a little flustered when it comes to Barbara.” The admission came easy. Perhaps it was the comfort of their solitude, or maybe the fact that this was his own mother. “We’re in an awkward stage, what with me trying to kill her son multiple times, nearly killing her, the war…”

“You certainly know how to court,” she joked. “You and Oz are about as awkward with courting as your father was…”

He blinked, choosing his next words carefully. “And…my father. Is he…?”

“Dead,” she finished solemnly. “A casualty during the battle at Killahead Bridge. He was one of the few Pterostryx willing to fight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Unless you were the one who smashed his head in, don’t be. I’ve made my peace with his death.”

Thankfully, Strickler hadn’t been there at the first battle of Killahead. He’d been confined to the Darklands with the rest of the Changelings that had yet to form a bond.

“Did you battle as well?” he asked slowly. “Is that where you…got your scars?”

“No. I had stayed behind with little Oz. He wasn’t old enough to take care of himself—barely under a century. He needed me.” Her good eye misted over and she turned away to wipe it. “No, these scars are from…a mistake I made long ago. Long after your father passed.”

He decided not to pry further. Instead, he rerouted the conversation. “You mentioned Oz was awkward with courtship. Does that mean he has a mate?”

“Why, yes, he does!” Eldegleam seemed happy at the change. “That young fool usually wears his nose ring, but the idiot took it out and got it stolen by a gnome! He’s _still_ on the hunt for that thing!”

They shared a laugh.

Eldegleam suddenly cocked an eyebrow in Strickler’s direction. She nodded to something behind him, causing him to turn around and face the doorway from which he came earlier.

A small whelp, possibly still under his first century—maybe 60, thought Strickler—was tiptoeing around in the shadows. His skin was so dark green it was almost black, but his wings and horns were a bright red. It was jarring.

The whelp rushed over to the large waterfall and disappeared behind it. If he had seen Strickler or Eldegleam, or cared that they had seen him, he hadn’t shown it.

“That’s Arthor,” Eldegleam said softly. Her voice was tinged with sadness. “He usually ducks in here when I soak, mostly because he knows I won’t rat him out.”

“What is he doing?”

“Having his own bath, most likely.” She shrugged. “Poor thing doesn’t get many chances to relax.”

“His parents don’t like him, I take it?”

“His parents are dead,” she said flatly. “Killed just after he was weaned.”

Strickler glanced back at where Arthor had disappeared. “And no one is taking care of him?”

Eldegleam shook her head. “The first few families that tried all ended up dead. Now that he’s older, even _he_ won’t allow anyone to get close. Everyone considers him bad luck. They think he’s the next Gunmar because of his coloring.”

“Is that what _you_ think?”

She scoffed. “I think everyone has forgotten what heliotrope looks like. It’s just a dark shade of green, just like many Pterostryx have. It’s all a bunch of superstitious nonsense that’s become a weight on that poor whelp’s shoulders.”

Strickler could relate. Being told you were unloved from a young age tended to mold you into something unlovable. It usually ruined a child’s outlook on life—and society in general.

“And what caused those families to die?” he asked.

“No one exactly knows the true causes. The nastiest among us believe it was Arthor that set up their deaths. Some believe he just exudes the foulest of luck and that any who get close will die. The poor child…”

Poor, indeed.

Eventually, Strickler and his mother were ushered away. Strickler was given a freshly washed loincloth, thank goodness. Mossoff had done it gratis, as a gesture of good will. Once they were back in their clothes, Eldegleam led him out of the bathhouse.

“Come now, Walter,” she said cheerily. “Why don’t we go find Barbara and Oz? I’m sure they’re as hungry as we are. And I bet Oz will want to take you two out to The Odious Oyster.”

“Do I want to know what that is?”

She winked her good eye at him. “It’s Oz’s favorite place to eat, but he _might_ be a tad biased.”

“Oh?”

“Well, the owner _is_ his mate, after all!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Arthor's name is intentionally spelled like that. Fun fact, I was using a tiefling name generator for D&D and when I saw that in the suggestions I just *knew* it was meant to be!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler and Barbara meet up with the Pineroost Changelings for a 'double date.'

The _Odious Oyster_ was apparently a popular ‘Upper-Tree’ restaurant. This meant one had to either fly or climb to get to it, though it apparently was worth it.

“What about those who aren’t strong enough to get up there?” Barbara asked as she, Strickler, and Oz padded closer. “Like humans or really old Trolls?”

Oz smiled. “We do have an elevator. You have to go into a small tunnel in the outer cave wall, but it’s not too hard to find. We can take that way if you want.”

Strickler watched as she pondered the idea. After a few moments, she shook her head and took off her glasses. “Flying is fine,” she said, hooking her arm with Strickler’s.

He gave her a soft smile in return.

“Since we’re flying,” Oz said happily, “that means we should take off right about here. It can get a little awkward to fly _straight up_.”

Strickler scooped Barbara gently into his arms. She wrapped her own arms around his neck, sending a warm tingle down his spine and making him smile wider. He hoped this feeling would never cease.

The brothers took off, Oz glancing at Strickler and Barbara with a knowing look. When he caught Strickler’s eye, he gave a thumbs-up and grinned. Strickler rolled his eyes.

The upper branches of this particular tree were some of the ones melded into the ceiling. Some of the middle branches reached out and entwined with other trees to form the strange arena—which Strickler could only assume was for training or games of some sort. The lowest branches were more like landing balconies and runways, and some had small tables with little cushioned seats for a decent view of Pineroost.

Oz directed them to the entrance, which was basically the largest landing branch right outside a big archway in the trunk. The archway was curtained at the top, much like a sushi stand or small-town Asian restaurant.

The inside was…well, it was very reminiscent of one of those old 50s-style diners. Or a Steak n’ Shake—don’t ask Strickler how he knew what the inside of a Steak n’ Shake looked like. The wood floors were painted to emulate tiles, there was a bar area in front of the kitchen, booths lined most of the inside, with the odd table here and there filling up the rest of the space. Trolls—mostly Pterostryx, but Strickler could see some variety in here—were scattered throughout the place, eating and conversing and generally not paying attention to the newcomers.

Except for one. A soft jade-colored Pterostryx rose from his seat at the bar and rushed forward to meet them. He was Strickler’s age, with salt-and-pepper hair, horns that stuck straight up and branched like antlers, and a few nasty scars here and there.

“It is so good to see you survived,” the Troll said loudly to Strickler. He slapped the Changeling on the shoulder. “I had been worried you’d perished when Plutarch didn’t tell me any news!”

Strickler blinked in confusion. “Er…”

“Oh, sorry,” Oz said hurriedly. “This is Jabir. He carried you to the Heartstone.”

Jabir puffed out his chest. “I’m one of the fastest fliers, it was an honor to put my speed to good use.”

Strickler narrowed his eyes. Something nagged at him, poking at the back of his brain. He didn’t know this Troll and yet…he got the sense this Troll wasn’t _all_ smiles and fun. Call it Changeling Instinct. Or, as the youth today liked to put it, his Spidey Sense.

Jabir didn’t seem perturbed at Strickler’s lack of conversation. Instead, he set his eyes on Barbara. “I heard you yelling at Oz outside the Heartstone. How refreshing to hear a human threaten to use Rule #3!”

Barbara chuckled. “I’m an orange belt in Krav Maga, so I’m no stranger to defending myself.”

Strickler smiled. No, she certainly wasn’t. He absentmindedly rubbed his forehead, remembering when she’d knocked him around with a broom.

“Well,” Jabir said, “I should get going. Have to patrol, settle arguments, kiss whelps and all that. It was nice meeting you…?”

He looked at Strickler expectantly. The Changeling answered curtly, “Stricklander.”

“Stricklander,” Jabir repeated. “Interesting name. Well, don’t let me ruin your evening! See you all around!”

With that, the jade Troll trotted out of the restaurant and vaulted off the entry branch.

“Don’t mind him,” Oz apologized. “Jabir is one of Plutarch’s disciples. He’s hoping to take over as our leader once Plutarch passes.”

Ah. Now Strickler could understand his instincts reacting negatively around the other Troll. Jabir was basically a _politician_. He was doing something Strickler and nearly every Changeling knew well: put on a smile and pretend to care. Whether Jabir was pretending or not, Strickler didn’t know. But still, it didn’t hurt to be wary of someone vying for leadership.

Oz turned away from Strickler and Barbara. He waved at someone moving behind the bar in the kitchen. “Terra!” he shouted. “Terra, we’re here!”

A tall Pterostryx exited the kitchen area, steam billowing out behind them. The Troll was not any shade of green, but a rich reddish orange with darker orange wings and a fiery mane. They looked like some child had colored them with a crayon called Fanta Bonanza. He had a nose ring, but due to the location of Pterostryx nostrils, it looked like a ring stretched over a beak.

The Troll smiled, clearly missing a few bottom teeth. “Hello,” they greeted. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Terracotta.”

“Wow,” Barbara said with a chuckle. She jabbed Strickler in the side gently. “And I thought Blinky was on-the-nose.”

Strickler laughed.

They introduced themselves (Strickler explaining he could be called Walter) to the new Troll, who was apparently Oz’s mate. Strickler remembered Eldegleam saying Oz had lost his nose ring—basically a Troll wedding band—to gnomes a while back.

“For the brother of my mate,” Terracotta declared, “The best view in Pineroost! Right this way.”

They were led out onto one of the branch patios. Strickler was impressed; they definitely had the best view of the entire village, with the Olympia Heartstone dead center and illuminating the vista perfectly. The table was a circle stone, low to the ground. The branch they were on was actually hollowed out to form seats around the table—seats that left one’s legs dangling high above the actual ground.

Barbara balked slightly at the sight. She gripped Strickler’s arm tighter. To her credit, though, she managed to settle herself down onto a seat without much trouble. The holes weren’t large enough for her to fall through, thank goodness. Strickler settled in next to her, wings itching to drape around her in comfort.

Oz didn’t sit down. He did, however, offer some pitchers of water. “I’ll wait for Hernan and Yaga. In the meantime, Terracotta can explain his amazing menu!”

The dark green Troll rushed away. Terracotta gave a light chuckle, then handed Barbara and Strickler a couple small, one-page menus.

Strickler examined his menu. Seafood seemed to be the main offering here at the _Odious Oyster_. Most of the menu was comprised of mollusks and crustaceans, some coral and sea stones thrown in, and raw fish—not sushi, just literally fish served live. There were human options like actual sushi, and cooked versions of the Troll menu. A quick glance at Barbara told Strickler she seemed excited for the prospect of something.

“Ooh, what’s this one? The Paella?” Barbara asked. Terracotta looked at her choice and explained it was a one-pot dish of lobster chunks, a fish of Barbara’s choice, rice, peppers, spices, saffron, paprika, and salt. She gleefully ordered it.

“And for you, Walter?”

The human name rolling off of a Troll’s lips, especially in a casual sense, caught Strickler by surprise. He blinked a few times, then stared hard at his menu. “Er…Oh, I don’t know…What is this Gee-oh-duck thing?”

Terracotta grinned. “It’s pronounced Gooey-duck. And it’s a house specialty! I only prepare it when it’s in season, and it just so happens to be in season!”

“But what is it?” Barbara asked.

“Basically, it’s a large clam,” he answered. “Its shell may be small, but there’s so much soft meat it looks like a cross between a snail and an oyster.”

Terracotta seemed genuinely excited about fixing one, so Strickler ordered it. “It’s not served live is it?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Then please don’t serve it live.” Strickler coughed awkwardly. “I’m not exactly comfortable with…wiggling things going down my throat.”

“Of course. I’ll get started on your orders right away.”

“Take your time,” Barbara called as he walked away. “There’s no rush!”

And just like that, the two of them were alone. Quite literally out on a limb.

“So,” Barbara began, swirling some water in her pitcher. “You don’t like eating wiggly things?”

Strickler scoffed. “I’ve never seen the appeal of something quite literally crawling down my throat. I don’t mind something recently _killed_, but a live thing with more than four legs or none at all is where I draw the line.”

“So you’re telling me you wouldn’t eat bugs?”

“I’m a Troll, not a warthog about to sing Hakuna Matata.”

They both laughed out loud. Strickler was glad they could relax like this. No babies to worry about, no Toby banging on their door to report about Goblins nearby, no worries about Jim’s whereabouts, and no stress from Barbara’s job. Just the two of them, having a chat like they used to.

“I miss wine,” Strickler lamented. “It’s a shame I can no longer enjoy a good _Pinot Noir_ without wanting to puke it up.”

“Walter!” Barbara nearly choked on her water.

“Jim’s not the only one that gets to miss human food,” he continued, tone light. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to enjoy a decently cooked steak!”

“I made you steak last month.”

“Barbara, I love you, but if a Troll enjoys your cooking it probably doesn’t mean Jim got his culinary skills from you.”

She pursed her lips but couldn’t keep a straight face. She roared in laughter. Strickler laughed with her, tears prickling at the edges of his eyes.

“And here we see a Pterostryx Changeling in his natural environment, courting with a potential human mate!”

The sudden comment from Oz startled both Barbara and Strickler. She flailed her arms, forgetting she wasn’t small enough to actually fall through the branch. Strickler steadied her, sending a glare Oz’s way. Suddenly having a true blood brother felt like popping a zit.

His brother grinned in a way only siblings could grin; like a cat who’d proudly hacked up a hairball in their owner’s shoe. “I hope we weren’t interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Strickler said smoothly.

“Then, may I present the other half of the double date!” Oz stepped aside to allow two Trolls out onto the branch.

Hernan was distinguishable enough, his bespectacled eyes huge and shifty. His bull horns were wide enough to knock into the frame of the doorway.

Strickler remembered him. His human form had been a small, unassuming Hispanic man. He’d also been a champion chess player, which was a shame since he couldn’t lead troops worth a damn.

The other Troll was older. Large and as broad as a great white shark with the teeth to match, she shared the same amber eyes as Strickler but had the skin color of cinnabar. She also sported four eyes and a prehensile tail.

Strickler remembered her, too. She was only a little bit younger than Strickler, but had gotten a familiar in the 16th century, far later than many in their generation. The interesting part? She was a polymorph—she could change into literally anyone, regardless of that person being a familiar or not. The ability was rare, and highly valued in the Janus Order. Her personal familiar had been male, and due to a combination of her exhibiting polymorph abilities and a shortage of male unbonded Changelings at the time, she had finally been selected to come Topside.

Last Strickler had heard, she’d been part of the doomed Roanoke Colony, under the alias of her familiar, Erasmus Clef. She and another Changeling had joined the original colony to search for potential New World HQ locations, but both had disappeared with the rest of the humans under mysterious circumstances. Even the Janus Order had no idea what had happened to that colony, and later assumed the Changelings Erasmus Clefs and Randall Mayne had perished.

Clearly, they had been wrong.

“Erasmus,” Strickler greeted coolly. “I see you’re doing well.”

The red Troll stiffened. Clearly, she had not heard that name in centuries. “Stricklander,” she returned. “I go by Yaga, now. Like Baba Yaga.”

“You always were a fan of the Slavic mythos,” he said with a smirk. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to these last 500 years.”

“Same to you.”

Hernan shifted uncomfortably in one place. “H-Hi…Lord S-S-Stricklander.”

“Hernan Garcia.” Strickler raised his chin. “I am _especially_ interested in hearing your side of that dastardly Seattle mishap.”

Barbara cleared her throat. “Why don’t you two have a seat? Walt’s not here to hurt you in any way. _Right_, Walt?”

Strickler nodded. “Of course. No more Janus Order, no more threats. Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”

After exchanging a nervous glance, the two Changelings finally sat down. Hernan sat across from Barbara. Yaga, across from Strickler.

The silence between them was thicker than the branch on which they sat.

“So,” Barbara drawled. “Clearly you all know each other.”

“Oh, where are my manners,” Yaga said quickly. She held out a finger for Barbara to shake, as her whole hand would probably crush the human’s. “I’m Yaga, formerly known as Erasmus Clefs. At your service.”

“Barbara Lake. It’s nice to meet you.” She nodded at Hernan. “Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” the blue Changeling said nervously. He kept glancing at Strickler, as if expecting him to vault over the table and bite of his head.

“I promise I won’t kill either of you,” Strickler said. “The Janus Order has been destroyed, and with it all previous ties.”

“So it’s true,” Hernan said quietly. “Barbara said that…that our brothers and sisters…”

“Yes.” Strickler’s tone was solemn. “Killed by Gunmar. Any who are left are those in the East who couldn’t make it…and those who faked their deaths prior to the Genocide.”

Hernan and Yaga had the decency to not look Strickler in the eyes.

“Did you two already order?” Barbara asked suddenly.

The change in topic was much appreciated by all Changelings present. Hernan and Yaga nodded, with the red Troll saying, “Yes, yes. We told Terracotta what we wanted on the way in.”

“We both have our favorites,” Hernan added.

They fell into silence again. It wasn’t as thickly awkward as before, but still rather uncomfortable.

Finally, Strickler turned his gaze across the table. “Yaga, if you don’t mind my asking…Can you still transform?”

She blinked, wary of the question. “Well,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “No. I cannot.”

“I don’t mean into Erasmus,” he clarified. “I meant can you transform into others, still? Are your polymorphic abilities still active, even without being bonded to your familiar?”

Another shake. “No. A few months ago, I suddenly was forced back into my natural Troll form. It was so quick I was nearly revealed in front of a bunch of students!”

“It wasn’t under the sun, I hope?”

“Thankfully, no. I was supposed to be a guest artist for a sculpting class that day. I had to pose as a sculpture instead for two hours!”

Strickler chuckled. “Did anyone at least try to paint you?”

“No, but I did get a few paintbrushes up my nose…” Her nose twitched. “I ate their supplies when they went on break.”

That earned a full laugh from the entire table. Even Hernan had relaxed enough to giggle.

“I’m afraid the forced change was our doing,” Strickler admitted. “The Trollhunter had made it a personal mission to free all of our familiars.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” Hernan asked. He wiped nonexistent sweat from his brow. “We had assumed Gunmar had called for a purge!”

Purges, though rare, were an awful event. Gunmar would call upon Strickler to do a Changeling census, and if any came up dead, their familiars no longer had a usefulness and would be eaten. It was a nasty and cruel thing, and no Changeling ever wished that fate on any human child—least of all an innocent familiar.

“How on earth did the Trollhunter manage to rescue _every_ baby?” Yaga inquired.

And so, the conversation shifted to Strickler explaining all that had transpired in the past year. From the selection of a human Trollhunter, to the death of Bular, to Angor Rot’s raising and subsequent defeat, to the Eternal Night, and finally to the deaths of Gunmar and the newly-freed Morgana. The Changelings listened, enraptured, asking questions only a few times. Barbara interjected with her own comments towards the end.

“Glad to know our familiars are safe and protected,” Hernan finally said. “They deserve to actually grow up like real humans.”

“Even if they’ll never know their true names,” Yaga added.

“It will be the last bond we share with them,” Strickler finished.

They all took a drink in silence. All except Barbara, who glanced away to give them some semblance of space.

“What all changed since my death?” Yaga asked once enough time passed. “Besides what I’m assuming was a giant leap in the Order’s technology department.”

“Hernan never told you?”

“He’s told me _some_ things,” she said with a dismissive wave. “But I want to hear something from the Bossman himself.”

“Like what?”

“Like…oh, what’s an easy one Barbara might be interested in?” Yaga put a finger to her chin. “How about...Okay, did that Inquisitor—Karenna, wasn’t it? –did she really fight to make ASL happen in the Order?”

“Wait, you know sign language?” Barbara asked. She cupped her chin in her hands. “Do tell!”

“Technically, it’s _C_SL. Changeling Sign Language,” he clarified. “Karenna never managed to publish an official book for it, so a lot of the rules were guidelines, but, yes. Everyone in the Order was required to learn to sign. In the long run, it certainly helped for our human disguises on no less than a dozen occasions.”

“What’s the difference between ASL and CSL?”

“Troll words, Changeling words, etc. CSL is a mess of basically every language under the stars.”

“Ah.”

Their food came shortly after Strickler had been prompted to tell more stories. Terracotta and Oz had delivered their food and sat themselves at another table on a nearby branch. Oz had promised to let Strickler and Barbara enjoy their get together with the Pineroost Changelings, and so far, he was keeping his word.

The food was absolutely delicious. Strickler, in all his centuries, had never had geoduck before. It was raw but not alive, thankfully, and Hernan had helpfully suggested slurping the meaty bits out first before chomping down on the shell. He did as instructed and found it delectable.

Barbara had a similar experience with her Paella. The moment she chowed down, her entire form melted in bliss. Strickler was rather jealous; the smells hitting his nose made him remember how things would taste on his human tongue, but he knew they wouldn’t be good to him now.

Apparently, the other Changelings were having a similar reaction. Yaga sighed dejectedly. “Oh, to eat that delicious human food again,” she cried. “Terracotta certainly knows his way around human recipes.”

“I can’t believe how good this is,” Barbara said. “How does he know it’s good for human consumption if he’s got Troll tastebuds?”

“He follows the recipes,” Hernan replied. “And it was a lot of trial and error with Yaga and I when he began introducing the human menu options.”

“We’ll have to talk to Jim about that,” Strickler said offhandedly. “I think he’d enjoy speaking with a Troll who at least _knows_ how to cook for humans.”

Barbara agreed, mouth full of lobster and rice.

“But enough about us,” Strickler finally stated. “Let’s hear about you two. What have you been up to in Pineroost?”

Yaga puffed out her broad chest. “Well, I’m many things here. Self-defense teacher for the whelps, mostly. Sometimes I help older Trolls and spar with them. I used to go up to the college and help out around the campus, but since I can no longer transform…” She shrugged. “_Aptet aut mori_, as we used to say, eh?”

Barbara glanced at Strickler for translation, but he shook his head. The Changelings’ motto didn’t necessarily need to be shared at the dinner table.

“What kind of self-defense do you teach?” Barbara asked eventually. “I’m an orange belt in Krav Maga, personally.”

Yaga’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, I used to watch students practice that! Brava to you, Barbara. But, I’m afraid Trolls aren’t in need of martial arts. I generally teach the whelps basic stances and defensive maneuvers. Nothing too fancy or violent.”

“Changeling fighting styles are really good for Pterostryx,” Hernan supplied. “None of us really like picking huge fights, so a good cat-and-mouse strategy helps decrease limb removal.”

“And sparring with me does help some Trolls vent,” Yaga said.

“And what about you, Hernan?” Barbara asked.

“I run the library,” the blue Changeling said proudly.

Strickler wasn’t at all surprised. Hernan had been an amazing bookkeeper in his time at the Order. “I do hope your selection is better kept than Blinky’s. That Troll does _not_ know the meaning of the word ‘orderly.’”

A look of horror crossed Hernan’s face. “Does he not use the Dewey Decimal System?”

“Not at all.”

Barbara, Strickler, and Yaga all laughed as Hernan made a show of being offended. He pulled on his horns dramatically and snorted like a bull.

Strickler was honestly relieved that the two Changelings before him had managed to carve out livings among Trolls. It made him feel…warm inside. And hopeful that eventually any other surviving Changelings might also find their own peaceful places in the world.

He chomped down on another geoduck, feeling happier about the fate of his living brethren.

Something caught his eye. It was below them, in Pineroost proper, and Strickler almost dismissed it as a trick of the light. But no, he couldn’t let it go.

He turned his head, watching as a soft jade Pterostryx flew around the lower trees toward the Heartstone. He seemed to be carrying a bag of some sort. The way he handled the bag looked suspicious, but Strickler shrugged it off. Who was he to be suspicious of someone he’d only met? Who was he to judge?

It still nagged at him, though. And the wriggling wrongness of Jabir’s brief introduction to him never left Strickler’s brain for the rest of their evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karenna and her founding of CSL is actually a nod to the amazing [Terpsichore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944542) fic, by Nico! If you haven't read that, go do it because that fic is just an amazing piece of work and full of Changeling lore and goodies!   
Yaga's original name, Erasmus Clefs (as well as the Changeling she had been with) was taken from a wiki list of Roanoke colonists, and the original members were all male, apparently. I thought the name was super neat, so I used it. Thank you, Mr. Clefs, for having such an interesting name!


End file.
